


The Last Frontier

by buscemies, Daaahlias



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Cowboy AU, M/M, WE JUST CALLED IT THE YEEH-AU, Wild West AU, in which Buscemies and Daaahlia write a fucking fic in the span of two months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buscemies/pseuds/buscemies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daaahlias/pseuds/Daaahlias
Summary: When you gone stop tellin’ tales like your old pal was some kind of hero?1895. Michael and Trevor navigate the desolate planes of North Yankton, with the westward expansion before them and a sordid history behind.





	1. PART I

Michael,   
  
How long's it been brother?  
  
Feels like the last time I saw your ugly mug we were knee deep in snow out in that town ‘round North Yankton wintertime. And now I hear with my own two ears that you’ve settled down in that ass-end of a town, what's it called? Ludendorff?

You still with that woman, what’d you call her? Amelia? Arletta? Amanda?

You know I use to think that nobody could never break my heart, M. I thought it’d been broken too many times, by ma, pa, and everybody else who ever promised me kindness. They all _liars and snakes,_ but never did I think my own pal M would betray me like this.

Out of all of the times I been shot at, stabbed, and thrown around I never felt a pain like this before. I breathe and its like you tellin’ me to hit the road all over again. I dont let anybody see me cry, nobody ‘cept you. So you should know I spill tears for your fat face every night when I remember you aint there with me. Why’d you leave me Michael? Ma use to tell me that when a man tells somebody they love them that they never mean nothin’ by it. That they can take it back as quick as any other word they say. But I didn’t believe her, not after I met you, and kissed you silly under that sycamore tree.

Tonight I’ll drink moonshine til I go blind, and hope I dont see you in my dreams.

Lester says he’s got a job I cant spell out here, but its a good one. I hate workin’ jobs without you watching my back M. But whats a man to do when he accidentally see’s a woman too pretty and too good for him without a husband? If she’s had the kid, named it, I hope that its doin’ well and growin’ strong. I hate you for what you done to me, but I’d never wish any pain on no baby.

If you still got any degree of decency, write me back wont you? Let me know you aint face down in the dirt somewhere with Amanda 'cross the county line with all of your cash. I love you brother, and I’m truly sorry to say that aint gonna change today.

Forever Yours,  
Trevor ****

* * *

Trevor,

I been thinking on what to write for days - well maybe weeks now - but everything seems wrong somehow. I thought...I feared I’d not hear from you again until I had a shoulder under yer box and...and well, here you are writing to me again after all this time. There ain’t a day go by without me thinkin’ of you. For all the things I put you through you oughta know that much at least. In any case I’ll tell for you the life of a frontier man best as I can, which is entirely diffent from the life of a highwayman like we had back then. The land is saffron and gold in the valley, the wheat coming in full and tall and feathery on top. Fat cattle take to the acres freely enough, and most days the shootin’ I do is at the coyotes and wolves that show hide or tail.

The township say it’ll be a good yield if it rains a week more and no sickness comes for the mustangs, but we’ll see - you know I ain’t one to count the gold before we outride the sheriff - old habits, I s’pose. I miss my double barrel, and the funny look those bastards gave us when we stuck ‘em up on the road. Don’t make out about the job, but have you found yerself a new partner yet?

Amanda is fine too. She had the child not a month gone, a chubby little girl we named Tracey. Afterwards she told me it was a good thing it ain’t a boy, or I’d have raised hell tryin’ name him Trevor. I’d told her as much before, but she just laughed it off and said to me, _when you gone stop makin’ tales like yer old pal was some kind of hero?_ Like hell I knew what to say to that kinda talk. Except that I ain’t ever seen a quicker draw than you, or a partner who cared half as much.

I know you gonna do what you do because you’re stubborn as a mule, T, but don’t go blind waitin’ on me. Out here life stabs in deep roots and it ain’t the kind ye can shake off and go whinnyin’ away from. It may be another lifetime yet before I see your face, and I’d hate for it te get uglier than it was - wasn’t much pretty to begin with. Maybe you’ll even find a woman that’s too pretty and too good who’ll stick by _you_. You were always too damn flighty for your own good.

I hope you find enough decency in this letter to write me back again. I hope this finds you well, and fed and with full use of yer damn eyes.

Your Friend,  
Michael

 

* * *

Damn you Michael,

Aint you know what that kinda talk does to a man? When the messenger came up to my room I nearly hopped out my skin and flayed the boy for sayin who the message was from. I gotta say, even settled and taken you still full of surprised Mister Townley. But I aint so stupid as to fall for your crocodile tears again.

I truly am glad to hear of your child. You ought to get her out there with a rifle once she got enough a mind to stand. Mama always said a man is dangerous without a gun, but girls are killer with one. Course, keep that barrel away from her ears. Aint nobody need two deaf Townleys, world is sick with one already.

Now you keep your boy square in your pants there if you dont want a son, M. I aint sayin you cant raise no little boy, but little girls are a rodeo themselves from what I seen. We both saw the ruckus we went an’ caused our mama’s. The day Amanda bare’s you a son is the day I head into the Good Lord’s home with my hat off and my palms at the ready. And namin a boy Trevor? You gonna curse that poor boy to a life of misery unless he’s tougher than his old man. As fer me, aint been easy trying to make a living without a man I trust watching my back. Found a imbecile named Wade some time ago back but got himself sick with my knife down his throat not a week ago. He’s got a cousin by the name of Floyd, sounds even dumber than Wade was in the first damn place. But hes out near the Pacific and even thats too long a ride for me to handle. But if you askin what I want you to ask, I aint let no other man touch me. Even though you’ve left me for prettier pastures, I aint feel right to see anybody else. Not that you give a damn about what I do.

You know you could come back with me anytime, brother. I aint sayin its right to leave a woman with your baby. but together we could send them back enough cash for baby Tracey to have a better life than just you slaving over farm animals. I aint gonna lie, the idea of you workin the field sounds like a pretty sight but makes my heart hurt. You’re as stubborn as I is but that life aint you. The problem with you is you think life is about settlin. You look out at your little farm, what with the pigs and cows and tell me that makes you as happy as you were when you was out with me with only the mountains as our guides and our horses the only damn livestock to worry about. You’re an outlaw, M. You take what you want and damn anybody else who's stupid enough to cross your path. By the way, did you make good on your damn chickens? I didnt forget how much you wanted some you damn idiot.

My heart is still sore for you, M. When I wake up I still turn over looking for you on your side so I can kiss your arms. Amanda best be treating you right, because lord knows if I got to be Missus Townley I’d treat you better than well. But for now thats all self pity, and you know I dont wrangle that kinda thing. But I do miss you, and I still love you. Asshole. Why’d you go an’ do this to me? Aint I been a good man to you? I know I’m a sinner, I aint never claimed to be Jesus Christ on a bed of ivory. But I know I loved you best I could, best I knew. But you went and dragged me thru the damn dirt and tossed me aside like I was just bones from your supper. When you called me yours, I was fool enough to believe it. Sometimes that makes me so damn sad I’ll be fixin’ to cry a lake of tears. Others it makes me madder than a damn hornet’s nest. What kind of man takes another’s heart an’ destroys it like you did?

Job is happening soon. I think once this letter finds you I’ll be in Salt Lake. If you harbor any kind of decency, write me again, Sugar. I think these letters may be what keeps me alive out here.

Forever yours,  
Trevor

P.S. Call yourself a ‘friend’ again and i’ll tear yer lyin tongue out from yer throat. We’re too far from that now, Mister Townley.

* * *

Trevor,

It’s been a long and difficult September, and it feels like the life we had on the great plains and on the San Andreas Trail isn’t a year gone, but maybe ten. Maybe a hundred even.

Late one night, a short while ago we woke up to Tracey screaming and hollering and figurin’ it was usual Amanda got up for her. Then a minute later she came running in. Fire had apparently been set to the east field by some bandits. I ran out with the buckets like a fool, the blaze licking deep into the darkness in front of me, making it bright like the sun had set fire to the ground from under. Wasn’t a damn thing I could do but leave the cottage with the girls - watch the field burn hot and bright and rabid from the crest of the hill with all the goddamn horses running free all over the valley, screaming. Had to let a lot of ‘em go, caught a few round Johnston’s farm later too. As for the cattle, a good few were rustled and it won’t make this coming winter any easier. The house is fine and I made good on the chickens too, and they made it out too - fifteen of ‘em, and three roosters.

Some nights a thought comes to get me, a thought that tells me - well it don’t matter now. What’s done is done. All I can do is throw back some whiskey and trust the sun will rise tomorrow. The land is dead, and the dirt likely won’t take seed until next spring so I’ve taken work on a ranch nearby, luckily they’re plenty close and hardly an hour’s ride, and it pays well enough. Plenty, by some standards. Besides there’s some cash left over from our last job to stipend us through the winter.

Now as for kids, not a day in town goes by - which I goddamn loath - when some fool is askin’ about me an’ Amanda havin’ boys. Johnston over’n the next piece of land’s got five and they’re all a ranch on their own. But sometimes I look at Tracey sleeping fast, and I barely know how to take care of her. It’s a heavy thing having people depend on you. And I thought I told you not to go waitin’ on me…outlaws weren’t meant for damn sentimentality, when you gonna get that learnt Philips? Sentimentality has gotten men killed, hung and maimed, and far less of it than you have. You’d forget me and _forget us_ if you know what’s good for you, lest you tire out like me. I’ll always hold you in close regard, but this time round we ain’t gonna make it, brother. Not together. 

But enough of that. If the Pacific promises better life for you - I think you could make the ride. Besides, I’ve heard there’s gold to be won down there and you did always like yer bright metals over paper bills.

Don’t go pulling any stupid moves or taking undue risks. I ain’t there to get you out of it and I worry no one else will. But I s’pose this is all moot, even as I speak you’ve probably already done the job, and...and hell, it takes the air out of my damn lungs not knowin’ how it turned out right away. Let me know?  

Your Friend,  
Michael

PS. I’d like to see you try, brother.

 

* * *

M, 

I been tryin to write to you I dunno how many times now. If I hadnt burned every letter I thought was no good it’d probably be a neat little trail leadin’ you right back to my arms. But all romanticism aside I need to be sayin’ whats the truth. And the truth is that you’s a goddamn miserable shit head, how can you risk your hide like that? You got a little babe now, she comes first. Damn the farm! Damn the animals and damn the crops! If you die out there, then shes only got Amanda. And as capable a woman as she is, Amanda can only do so much. Damn you Townley! I’ll lose every damn hair on my head by next christ-mas you keep on like this.

Now you read this line as many times as you need to get it through yer thick skull. But if you need somethin, Michael, be it dollars or food, I’ll come for you the minute that letter lands in my hands. I’d ride through hell for you brother, damn if I havent already. And when I come to bring that bounty you dont even gotta see me. You tell me where to leave it n’ i’ll do it. That’ll be the end of that you damn fool. I know you’d sooner damn yerself than swallow your pride, but whats that you said? Its a heavy thing havin’ folks depend on you. So heres what that means, Townley. Means swallowing your damn pride and gettin’ on with it if the time ever comes fer it.

But next time someone come up to you with their nose in your business I expect you t’ spit in their faces like the Michael Townley I know. You gotta focus on that daughter of your’s, M. If the time comes fer you to have a boy, then I’d weep just as much when you told me Tracey had been born. But if it's meant to happen, then life’ll fuck ye like that. Hows Tracey growin? I expect Amanda is already teachin that girl to fight with her words like her mother does. Maybe when the time comes, I can teach her to hold a knife if you teach her to hold a gun.

As fer the job, it didnt go well half as well as any of us thought. But we got the cash and that's what matters. I suppose I could tell you more, but I aint right ready to tell you anything like that M. You decided to become a farmer, so stories like this aint for your eyes no more. Stories of wild men should be kept by campfire’s light, not by the ink on these here pages. You went an’ lost that privilege _Mister Farmer Boy._ But I got the finger reattached and its workin fine, if it aint you’d be readin’ chicken scratches by my other hand.

 _Forget about us._ And how am I supposed to forget you? I loved you since I was twenty, and I reckon I’ll love you til the day the good Lord send my soul to the pits of Hell. I dont believe in fate, Townley, thats for imbeciles with too much time on their hands. But despite how much you put me through, I think somebody meant for us to find each other. I’ll cry an ocean of tears over your dumb ass so long as I’m alive. But it dont matter how a man or a woman puts their hands on me, no one will ever be able to touch me like you did. You cursed me the first second you held me.

I waited my whole damn life to feel how I felt with you, M. And I aint talkin about the time we spent in bed, although I rightly do miss that. But I could be grey and sick in the brain but I’d still call for you. Even in my death, I’d still want for you. And even in Hell, I’d wait for you as long as God would let my soul stand. Fer now, i’ll write you till my hands fall off my body and even then i’d hold this pen with my teeth. If wantin’ you is greedy I dont rightly mind, I got enough sins on my back.

I was blind drunk a night ago. Came to holdin’ a girl, didn’t remember where she came from but she told me she right liked my saddle. Kissin’ her rosy lips was sweet as sugar, but it’ll never be as sweet as you. I’m cursed, ye see? I cant even spend my time with nobody else without missin’ you like some fool. But I suppose I must be to still be wantin’ your ugly mug after so much heartbreak. Stop with the ‘your friend’ business, I can't take no more bitterness in my life. At least show me some warm regards, or tell me what I did to deserve all of this coldness.

Lovingly yours,  
Trevor

 

* * *

Trevor,

Things are moving slowly out here. Each day is something like the last one but they are at least in some kind of progress. I’d have half a mind to take your generous offer if things were worse, but it’s gotten better. Tracey is up and rattlin’, already _trying_ to talk to everyone whose got half an ear. I’ll teach her to shoot when she can handle the kick back, but a knife? I think I’ll let her decide if she wants part in that madness. I wish you could meet her, I think she’d like that - some nights when I put her down I tell her stories about two outlaws out on the road, about the things they saw and nothing about what they went and did, because I don’t wanna give her nightmares. Work on the ranch is well too, and Amanda is with child again. A boy, she thinks. Just about half the damn town came up to wish her well when the grapevine caught light of it.

You’re right, I ain’t thinkin’ of myself like an outlaw no more either. I’m a rancher and a farmer if the badlands provide. Time passed and sawed down my teeth and if I had half a thought to spit at folk I’d be strung up by my laces in a devil’s second. And you’re the kettle calling the pot black if yer complaining of my taking risks. _Reattached_ a goddamn finger? What in the hell happened to not making stupid moves? I should see about writing to Crest, get him to smarten up about plannin’ these jobs. Still, I’d rather you split the fair on exactly what happened on the job. I may have sold my saddle, but I ain’t easily rattled.

Philips, I worry about you. The night I got your latest word I stepped onto the porch with a little lamp and some cigarettes to get readin’ when all the way ‘cross the land I saw the lightning. It broke in blue lines like lassos fast as anything, and then the sound came by a little later as it does like a stagecoach wheels on quarry rocks. All of a sudden it got me in mind of that time five years ago when we was crossing toward the Atlantic, horses broken not twenty days, bucking and snapping every step of the way when that sonofabitch storm found us. You remember? We were soaked through in all of a minute before your ride went an’ threw you clean off and knocked you out cold. I jumped off, one arm in the reins - I thought that was it, blood running off your brow so fast I couldn’t make out your eyes, breath barely coming up. Eventually I managed to get you into the rig, rain eased up once we started going again. It got so that near dawn it was dead quiet and I could finally hear you breathing. Feel it too, right there against my chest. You smelled like gunpowder and mud, warmth coming back into your bones - first thing you said was my name...I went and vanished for a week after that - you’ve always assumed I was sore at you for losing the pony and cash in your saddlebag and I’ve never let up otherwise. But the truth is it was because I finally realised I wanted you. Hell, I needed you. With me.  

So how’s that for cold, Trevor? You say I’m cold, but you don’t got any ideas about it. How could you? Just about every damn thing reminds me of you - rain or shine; ponies on the field; the way the logs in the fire ash; crickets in the reeds; the burnin’ sun in the breast of the valley. I got a thousand memories of you for each fuckin’ second of the day! Each sound and sight and smell!

I could love you well, but then it’s sure as a gun to kill me if I ain’t by your side. You don’t deserve that and it’s bitter as all hell, T, but it’s all I got.  
  
Yours Truly,  
Michael

 

* * *

Dearest Michael (The Turd),

I aint gonna lie that I did truly crack a smile reading that Amanda is with child again. As sad as it makes me, I aint as cruel to wish you any hardship. You always wanted this kinda dance, pretty wife, couple of kids, a place to call your own. I wish I coulda been apart of that dream, but now aint the time for my whining. I’m sending a few dollars with this letter, on account of I forgot to do that when you told me about Tracey. But dont think I forgot about her too, i’m sendin my knife over, you know the one. Keep it next to your heart as long as you want, M, but give it to her when you think shes old enough.

You know I dont lie, M. I aint never been in that kind of business. Anything I ever said to you has always been true, thats why I cant say that I dont miss you everyday. But lyin’ is somethin I wish I could do now because tellin the truth means swallowing my pride. The job we did a few weeks back was bad, and we’re still feeling the aftershock. You remember Missus Raspberry Jam, my trusty steed all these past few years? Right as I was about to jump on, she got shot in the neck, died right there. Had to hightail it out of town on foot, s’how I got my goddamn finger shot off. But we aint been able to leave this god damn desert in months now. Crest has me hiding out in this damn shack in the middle of nowhere with nothin’ to do. If the heat or the heartbreak of Missus Raspberry Jam goina kill me, it’ll be the damn folk our gang robbed silly. Whole town has a vendetta against our little group and nobody can cross the county line until we got a new plan. Personally, I think Crest ran off with the cash, and if that's the case I’m ready to knock him out of his damn chair.  Fer now, I gotta wait for the messenger to come ‘round weekly just hoping for any bit of news. Normally its bad, or nothin’ at all, but I been livin’ thru worst fates than this in my younger years. I’ll be fine, I just hope somebody gave Raspberry Jam a proper burial. Poor girl.

Those memories we got in our head, well theyre all thats keeping me alive. I wish you could just say it to me, say you love me and not hide the words like you use to. You could never tell me outright, you’d hold me close and take my damn breath away but the words aint never come. Soon as I went an’ said ‘I love you’, you went an’ got yer tongue lost, sometimes in me just to quiet me. But I’ll take the truth that you was never mad at me for gettin thrown off that horse years ago. I remember that morning as the sun shines in this godless desert. I remember everythin’ goin’ black, but when I saw light again all I could think of was you. Its always you on my damn mind. Be it back then, or now that I’m here in this shack all by my lonesome. I cried myself a glass of tears when you went an’ left me after that. I thought that you’d had your take of me and that was the end of that. But you came back to me, never said a word, and neither did I. The hopeful little boy in me is still hopin’ that in the end, it’ll just be us two again. I’d like that.

I miss you, M. More than usual now. I spend all day in this cottage thinking about that smug look you always got on. I think about that mole on your cheek I use to kiss. I wish you were here, holding me like you use to. You could lie to me all you want, say that you love your wife and not a peep was fer me while you kiss me under the sun. All I want is you, M. But you’re the one thing I cant have, and its driving me crazy. I cant ask you to leave your family, that aint right and even thieves got a code. But I wish I had you, just to hold for a little while. I want to hear your voice again, rest my ear to your chest and hear proof that you’re tickin still. I’d behave, I swear I would. I’d be sweet as pie to Amanda, and I wanna meet those kids of yours and make sure they aint at risk of becoming like us. I’d sleep in the barn, or out on the dirt road or not even sleep at all if thats what you want. I just need you M. You’re like an itch I cant scratch and everyday I feel like i’m losing it when I aint got you here with me, sugar.

I sincerely hope you dont feel the same. I dont wish this feeling on anybody. Its somethin’ you cant drink away, or drown out with the sound of gunshots. I wish you and your family nothing but happiness and health, sugar. My offer from my last letter still stands. I may be squatting in a shack with only shadows an’ rats around me, but anything I got is still yours, partner. I’d rather be dead than have you and your kin struggling out in the world. If you need it, you tell me quick as you can.

Hows the ranch after all of that nonsense with bandits? I wish I could help, M. I want to take care of you, even if its just from far away. I love you, a million times over, I love you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I’ve ever known, but I love you.

Be well,  
Trevor

P.S. When you write me next, address it to Diego Santiago. If they see ‘Philips’ at the post office written on an envelope, they’ll track me down and that’d be fine if I hadnt already marked my territory in this here shack.

 

* * *

 ****Trevor,

I ain’t got much time, I’m living at the ranch for a week or so and there’s hardly light or any goddamn peace and quiet for me to write in. Short while ago we had a long day of work and Ben, this buck whose whip-smart and good for drinkin’ at all hours, convinced me to take to town with him for a hand of poker or two. We went over to the saloon and got ourselves into a right fit drinkin’ till close. I came home eventually, but Amanda wasn’t havin’ none of that mess, what with me being dusted on the road and getting wheeled home by the sheriff. She was shame-faced for a day before we had it out. She went on callin’ me a drunk, throwin’ off on me, got to dredgin’ up all my outlaw business too, and mentioned you… well. Anyway. It weren’t a pretty time, but that’s just marriage I suppose.

Now, about you and your shack - if I get my hands on Lester, or catch wind of him I’ll track him down and give him a good, hard lacing. Goddamn weasel ain’t got no right to go snivelling off when you need him to get you out of a tight corner. If it’s worse than all that then I think I can rustle up some contacts from near your parts to get you out of there, they owe me some favours and then some- you just say the word. I’m also fixin’ to send some ammo with this letter, just in case. And thank you for the knife, though I hardly know how you had the heart to part with it after all these years. I’ll keep it well until I can pass it onto her.

You’re right on that account too - spring is a hell of a long way off. Them bandits, who go by the name _McDuff Brothers_ now that they got some wind in their sails, made off toward a few other farms after they set torch to our’s. They came back a week or so later and made the Mather’s farm one with the dust, then the Gerald’s a little later. It brought the marshall and his deputies all the way down from Bismarck City to see about locking the bastards up. Their game it turns out is to set fire and rustle cattle with all the distraction goin’, then come into houses and steal any cash they could find - apparently setting light to my plot had been a failure on their part since they didn’t take nothing. The marshall is fixin’ to talk to me as one of the witnesses. Considering all the trouble we used to make in the badlands, I’m rattled on account of he might clock my face. But I can play it off like I used to. It’ll be a damn rodeo, so don’t you give it a second thought - you got troubles enough of your own as it is.

T, don’t go out of your mind on your own out there. For me. Ghosts are good goddamn convincer, but if you give up you’ll have me to answer to when I eventually see you in hell. And that rightly won’t be pleasant for either of us. And I’m just fine, you best pay attention to keeping fine too.

Yours Earnestly,  
Michael

P.S. Before I forget - some of the folk take turn readin’ (shoutin’ more like) some night. I know you ain’t one for feathery writin’ but this one reminded me of you,

 _A glimpse, through an interstice caught,_  
_Of a crowd of women and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,_  
_late of a winter-night — and I unremarked seated in a corner;_  
_Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and_  
_seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;_  
_A long while, amid the noise of coming and going — of drinking and_  
_oath and smutty jest,_  
_There were two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,  
_ _perhaps not a word._

 

* * *

 ****M,

There are days out here when I open my eyes and I don't recognize nothin anymore. I watch the same sun rise over the mountains every mornin but nothin is the same. Suppose its selfish of me to expect everythin to stay the same. But aint I a man? One of god’s creatures? I want for whats gone, but all that thinkin just breaks my heart. So all I can do is protect what little I got, and pray to God that he has mercy on a man such as myself.

I know you said not to do nothin, but you aint my partner no more. By the time this letter will find you, just know that there aint gonna be no questions from no Marshall. Shame about what happened to those McDuff boys. But you know what they say, hell hath no fury.

Crest is sore at me for leaving Salt Lake like that but I dont rightly care about anythin anymore. He handed me my pay and much to my surprise it was all accounted for. I been celebrating o about a week now. But whiskey is sour when you aint got nobody to share with. But I figure once the Marshall and Sheriff come back to Bismarck i’ll have to hop town again.

Its a shame, I’d loved to have met your new darlin friend, whats his name? Ben? Sounds like a real spitfire, and if I know your tastes thats exactly what you always run towards. You call him as you use to say to me? You tell ‘im he’s got the most pretty eyes you done ever seen? Or is your mouth busy doin’ other such acts than to talk to the poor boy? I should come out to meet him, but I know that wouldn’t be possible. I’m sure you’d be too busy to introduce us with yer pants ‘round your ankles and your flaccid boy hangin out.

Say hell-o to Amanda and Tracey fer me. I may be frantic as a wild stallion, but I aint as cruel a man to show my face ‘round your ranch. Wish I could see you, though. If Amanda’s had her baby by the time you find this letter, wish it a happy Birth day from me.

Dont know where i’ll end up after this. Maybe its fer the best we abandon this, Michael. You got Ben and you got a family. I know i’m barely a fantasy for you. Self-mythologizing and self-pity are for the weak. My Pa was a viciously cruel man, but that lesson I do live by. And Ma didn’t raise me to act like some dog sniffin’ about where I clearly aint wanted.

I reread your letter every night before I lay my head down to rest. But it all feels like a dream, M. You and me both know you aint comin’ back to me, no poems or hymns can fool a man like me.

My heart is sick for you, but I know there aint no cure.

Sincerely,  
Trevor J. Philips

 

* * *

T,

You’re always fuckin’ insufferable when you get in yer cups. Fuck you and what ye think ye know. You had no right - no goddamn fucking right to go doin’ that to them bandits. I coulda handled it just fine, I said I’d play it off and now — I woke up just two days ago to Ennis Johnston crossing that goddamn field line to tell me the news. I look up, like a fuckin’ deer at spring water, none the wiser…the Marshal cut right across the throat in his county chair, floorboards all awash in red. Savage mess. Ain’t none of them deputies know what to make of it, they surely don’t. You goddamn crazy son of a bitch. I told you - I fuckin’ told you…

But sittin’ out here on this porch I see you might be right: I rightly don’t recognise nothing no more either. I don’t recognise you. You were always unpredictable but this will raise heads out of the trough from here to goddamn Waco. A line of scorched earth across this here frontier of our’s. All of Bismarck is hopping like buzzards on a carcass — get the hell out of there. Go far. Ride over the horizon and then ride some more before they catch wind of you. They is stupid sons of bitches, but you left a trail of blood not even a gofer could miss. I got a note from Lester, and he says you’re in dire fuckin’ straights — goddammit my fuckin’ hand won’t let up shaking.

My _darlin’ friend_ , my _darlin’ fuckin friend_ , you’d know best wouldn’t you, T? A new lover and then some in each town you set foot in. I’m surely sorry I ever told you about Ben. I’d tell you the truth of it, but you don’t deserve to know that. It ain’t your business. I’d tell you that when the sky set to black and we fell out of that bar-room he took his hat off, quietly, shyly and came for me under the scores of burning stars. I’d tell you that near that far wall of the street I kissed him, and it did nothing but make a hollow open up in my chest. Made me feel like I’d been shot. Made me think of you until I was blind and dumb and deaf and riding far away from everyone in some field to drink until I could feel death itself around me. I’d tell you that, Trevor, but you ain’t got no fuckin’ right to me. And I to you. In spite of all the things we say, it ain’t never been different.

I’m tired. Bone-tired, worse’n running across the country with you. You say I ain’t your partner — so don’t go shedding blood on my account. If you say it then do right by it — I’m gettin’ hollered for by the boss or I’d give you the rest of my mind too. Get out while you can, I won’t survive you being strung up no matter what you may think.

Yours,  
M

 

* * *

M.T,

It’s been a long time, but mine is grinding down and I must get to it. Trevor is in trouble. I’ve never trusted post so as to disclose details — but whatever happened between you two must wait. I need you to write to him and tell him to keep his mind, for his life is one in the same as my own. I cannot move, I cannot let my accomplices fall into the law’s iron grip. He’ll listen to you, he often has as you have to him. I know this may not touch you in any way, but for him to die is my head too. And if I’ve estimated rightly, it may well be your’s.

Keep safe, don’t get careless now.

Regards,  
L.C.

 

* * *

Sugar,

If you have any sense you’ll let this up. You say I dont belong to you but you’ve held my heart hostage since I was a boy. You say I aint got no right to crimes of passion, but thats all we got. Lord, I wish I was free of you. I wish I didnt see yer face everywhere I go or feel your touch whenever the wind sweeps me by. I wish I could wash you away, burn my clothes of your stench and never think of you at every turn. But I cant do that, I cant even live. You say I dont belong to you, but open your fuckin eyes! All I ever been is yours, I was just a fool to think that you’d have me on as your only lover. But all I ever wanted was you, M. That was it, but I’m at a fuckin’ loss. I dont have anything, M. For all those years we spent, all the tears we shed, the nights we shared, I aint got anything to show fir it. My god, I’m on my knee’s here begging for you to put me out of my misery and send me home to Mama. But you just keep fuckin’ takin, all you do is take and take. And I’m the crazy bastard who lets you have the skin off my back when I aint got no more to give.

I’m losing my mind here. I cant breathe just thinking of you. I thought if I got closer, maybe this fuckin’ pain would let up but its all the same. I look over those hills and all I can think is that you’re so close. But I dont dare cross it, I dont dare tempt the devil anymore than I already have. I just hope that the next time we meet, you do right by me for once in our fuckin’ lives and rest the barrel of your gun against my brow. I want you to kiss me before you let me go, just show me an ounce of love before you end me.

I left Bismarck the second your letter hit my hand. Already loosened too many bullets and gotten ‘round too many girls...M, everythin’s goin red so often I dont even know what i’m seein’ anymore. People say words to me and it just goes fuckin’ red again, I go blind with rage and when I can see again its still red. Blood is everywhere and I’m the fool that made the damn mess to begin with. Everything is falling apart, I cant even be mad at you for how we been. I’m too weary for the road no more. I been asleep under the trees these past few days, eating lizards and wild onions out here. From the signs I seen, I suppose I’m only a ways away from Johnson’s farm. Crest tried to come for me a few days ago, or he sent his goons to force me away from here. You tell him to let up on me, I’m fine here. I aint lookin’ as pretty as I did before, sure, but my hands still movin and I still got gunpowder.

I’m leavin this letter with Crest next time he sends a man out here fir me.  
Leave me here, M. Leave me, or put me out, those are the only choices left. Because I cant stop needin’ you, and I surely cant pretend you aint in my heart.

For maybe the final time, I am always, and lovingly yours,  
Trevor

 

* * *

T.P,

You’ve been in the wilderness so long I imagine the news hasn’t found you yet, but alongside this note I’ve enclosed some things you should know.

I read your last letter to Michael as it was necessary for my own protection. Regardless, the purgatory you’ve built under the shade of those oaks isn’t long for the valley. You’ll be free one way or another, but if you do stay in these parts I cannot guarantee your skin. There may well be nothing here for you soon, but isn’t this what you begged for after all? To be _let up_?

As the voice of reason, I’ll tell you that this is an ideal opportunity to start fresh and that sentiment has and will always be poison in the well of reason.  

As your friend I’d like you to know I’ve obliged Amanda’s enclosed request and released the last of Michael’s bonds into her custody.

Sincerely,  
L.C

P.S. I think some things, however fleeting, may be well worth dying for.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

Dear Mr. Crest,

I would firstly like to apologise for writing to you without a proper introduction. My name is Amanda De Santa and I believe you and my husband used to be work associates. Recently, difficult times have come up and I have been left little choice but to contact you on Michael’s behalf. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but last week he was shot in the stand off on the trail to Ludendorff. Sawbones has been in to see to him several times, but he is uncertain what else can be done. 

Two nights ago, when he came to he told me your name and address on old correspondence that I could use to contact you. He isn’t very much himself, the pain is a lot to see to, but he mentioned that I should send word and that — “Crest knows what to do”. I’m uncertain of the arrangement you had, but since he seemed adamant I thought it must be important that I carry through his wishes. While I may not be aware of the full extent of Michael’s affairs, I sense this is in reference to a relative sum. If you could explain to me his monetary situation I would appreciate it greatly, as I gather you are a bookkeeper of sorts and have tally of his keep to an extent…I have every hope and prayer that he’ll improve — but if there ever was a time for safeguarding I think it may be now, and I have our children to look after. I thank you for any and all of your future help, Mr Crest.

Lastly, and I’m hesitant to mention this as I surely don’t understand it yet — Michael mentioned his other accomplice and friend, Trevor Philips. He didn’t, couldn’t, say much, but to ask after letters, of which I’ve received one. It seemed important to Michael that I forward a letter he’d been meaning to send to Mr. Philips before he was shot. I have enclosed it to you, as I have no address for him. I had half a mind to burn it after reading Mr Philip’s correspondence, but it hardly seems fair to steal words from Michael if they may be his last.

Again, I thank you for your help and would appreciate a response, Mr Crest.

Regards,  
Amanda De Santa.

 

* * *

Trevor,

I’m mad as all hell, but I don’t have the heart to keep up my fences no more. You think you remember me longer’n I do you, but it’s all there. The sycamore tree? That tall dappling mast, burning a flash-green above the stone wall where you sat me down and kissed me. The lake a hundred miles from Tennessee and a million from any other place in the world, right under that mess of a night sky, drinking whiskey and tasting the same on you until morning for the first time. The first and last time we laid eyes on the water in the west, the ocean salty and the glare on the sand…I don’t say none of it, because I go worrying that if I start I’ll never stop and eventually I’d die, emptied of anythin’ good. But see, I’ve this notion that all the while I’ve taken to bleeding inwardly and it don’t get worse’n that, I think.

I love you. I do. Trade anythin’ to put my hand in your collar and taste you again, your skin, your lips, that huff of a laugh on my cheek, hair running under my fingers. Plains of you like vales sun-warmed and soft, all of it mine. Every inch. Always.

I don’t know where we go from here.

Your’s Earnestly,  
Michael

 

* * *

M,

I’m comin. Wait fir me.

Love always,  
T

  

* * *

Goddamit Michael,

Sometimes I feel like you must be blind and deaf not to understand a word I say. I say _‘Dont risk your skin, you got a daughter and a little baby to think of’_ but what do you do? You run towards trouble, thats what. Now I know you didn’t choose to have no toothless thugs come to yer place of work and shoot you. But damn it! You aint never goddamn learnt to duck and you’re dumb as hell for it.

In our younger days I’d admired that about you. I aint never seen you more alive than when you got a pistol in one hand and a bag in cash in the other. But ye say you gave that up, but look at you now. Skin white as milk, throat dry, blood under your nails. God damn it! How could you do this?

I dont believe what the doc says, or what Amanda says. She dont trust me, and I dont trust her, and same to that snot nosed sawbones. A couple of idiots with guns and simple minds aint gonna be what kills you, Townley, it aint meant to be. Its suppose to be when yer old and grey, with grandkids all ‘round you and...I did this. I know I did. I’m lecturing you now but I know what I done. I didnt fuckin’ listen, just like always I let my heart do the talkin but now God aint tryin’ to drag me to hell. No, hes doin one worse. He’s trying to take you, the only person I ever did love, the only person I still love.

Michael, I’m good to Amanda. But lord, the fire in that woman. When I came tumblin down that dirt road with tears and and sweat on my cheeks she looked at me s’if I was a rat at her table. M, she knows. She’s seen the letters, and she rightly dont trust me. But when she said ‘Come back tomorrow’ I must’ve made some sort of face because she turned white as a ghost and let me inside. I dont blame her fer not trustin’ me. She’s with child, her husband is near death and the snow outside intends to snuff her out. But she’s a fire alright, I watched her chew out that snotty doc yellin’ at him to do what he’s meant t’ do. I only feel a tinge of guilt when she wont raise her gaze. When she asked me what sycamore trees meant, I nearly threw up what little was in my stomach.

Shes lettin’ me stay here. I’m tryin’ to take care of the things you cant what with bein so dumb as to get yourself sick with lead. I fixed the hole in the roof an’ started workin’ on restorin’ the field. Lots of folk been by expressing their condolences, and I managed to squeeze a few chickens and rabbits out of them. The De Santa farm has been makin pretty pennies with these eggs and Rabbit skins, I aint takin’ none fir myself, its all yours. Winter is especially cruel up here, but i’ve been to colder places. I’ve taught Amanda and Tracey how to keep the house warm when all ya got is a handful of wet timber and egg shells (its a secret, i’ll have t’ tell you about it when ye come out of it). Tracey herself is smart as a whip, even if she’s barely taller than my knee. Always askin’ me what’s this or what’s that, reminds me of you...I miss you. I miss you but I’ve never been closer. Nothin’s fair, but fer now I’ll keep on because I know I gotta keep your kin safe.

Every time the doc comes by he says for us to stay goodbye. But I aint sayin’ goodbye, because I aint even been able to say howdy. M, lord, I never loved anybody like I love you. I talk to you all the time while you stay asleep all hours of the day with your skin so hot i’m scared the damn bed will catch fire. But I need you to know, M, how sorry I am for everything. I’m sorry I left when you told me about Amanda. I’m sorry I made such a fuckin’ mess of things. I’m sorry I put you in harms way and broke your heart with my words. I’m keepin these letters a secret now, fir you to read when you wake up. Sugar, I swear with my life, I will make this right.

Always and Forever Yours,  
Trevor

 

* * *

Dear Michael,

Been a few days since I last wrote you. You’re still sleepin like a log but the sawbones just came by to see how you’re fairin. He says its a god damn miracle, your fever’s broken and whatever illness you was sick with is fading. Doc says it's the lord at work, while Amanda and me both looked at each other thinkin ‘Lords work? What about _our_ work?’

Shes doing better now that you is too. I can tell she still aint anymore trustin of me today than she was days ago, but thats fine fir me. She’s a fun gal, I can see why ye got so sick over her before. Late last night she was workin on a quilt for Baby James, when she accidentally stabbed herself wit the needle. ‘God damn son of a bitch shit on my fuckin’ grave!’ She yells. Now i’m hollering because the former esteemed Miss Amanda Lourix is swearing and turnin bright red when Tracey turns and says ‘Mama calls lots a things _bitch_ ’.

Tracey is doin swell too. Amanda dont like me around her too much which hurts me. You know I’d never ever lay a hand on any child, least of all one of yer own. She got into my pack one night and luckily only found that lil pocketbook of prayers Ma gave me. She’s been lookin at the pictures and runnin her fingers round the words whenever I see her now. Girl is smarter than any of us I think. I wouldn't be surprised if when she starts school she’s even smarter than Johnson’s oldest. But fir now, s’all picture books and chickens for her.

I miss you, M. Doc says if the lord is kind, you’ll be up and about soon. I hope you’re up sooner, so that I can see your dumb mug and kiss those lips when you can see me clearly. What’ve you been dreamin’ of all these nights I wonder? I hope you can see Tracey tryin’ to make sense of words in books, an Amanda knitting booties for that baby on the way. I also hope you see me, playin’ nice with Amanda and lookin’ over you.

I love you. I never missed somebody near so much in my whole god damn life. The minute you open your eyes, I swear, I’ll do whatever you ask of me. You want me gone, I swear you’ll never see hide nor hair o’ me again. But if you’d have me, Michael, I’d spend the rest of my days making it up to you. Be it away from you and your kin, or sharing a bed, I will always be yours.

Lovingly,  
T

P.S. You still snore like a damn hog. I’ve missed you.

 

* * *

L.C.,

How the hell are you? Still sittin on that chair demandin’ fuckin’ payment fir doin’ squat for jobs? No matter. I seen your messages, seen yer boys too. Writin to tell you I lost my mind a while back, but I got most of it back now. I’ll watch myself, and M. Dont you worry ‘bout us. But you holler if you need a man such as myself, ye know I am a slave to the public works I do for this valley.

If Michaels got anythin’ to say ye will surely be receiving another letter in my hand til he can hold himself up. I aint gonna disclose anythin’ that’d scare you outta your pants, but doc says the Lord aint takin our boy yet. Someone owes someone a dollar fer that.

Best,  
T.P.


	2. PART II

Trevor,

I woke yesterday at dawn by some kind of instinct and realised your things were gone. My side felt skewered through and through with a hot iron while I stood at the door, ice wind blowing in, imagining the smudge of you riding the blurry horizon.

After years of barely bein’ able to breath easy we got a day at most and twenty words apiece between us. Much less anythin’ else. You were a fine sight for sore eyes, but all today I thought the distance and time had you tongue-tied, since you barely said anything before you put on your hat. Made me think that somehow all these miles had made strangers of us. I thought you’d gone and considered I ain’t worth your trouble, and left in the dead of night to avoid that brittle goodbye and a cock and bull handshake. When the pain took me and put me flat on my back around noon I even gave creed that you being here was all a damn dream. But round evening time Amanda came to me by the fire, some papers tight in her hand. Had that dark look in her eye full of blame…spat at me that she’d been a hair’s width from burning everything, all of them. I suppose what convinced her in the end was that me an’ what’s left of the farm would be dead without you. What happened that night that got you up in the saddle so quick?

For now, keep your sorry’s to yourself. There ain’t nothing you’ve done that you haven’t undone a thousand ways since. I’m sending this to the address you left. I can barely keep my eyes in my head, less the pen in my hand — but you just can’t seem to shake the habit of savin’ me, can you Philips?

Come back to me when ye can, won’t you? I’ll meet you halfway and say things I’ve been waitin’ on saying, have a drink and split the fire. Hold you the way I’m fixin’ to. The world’s been too sore at me to keep pretences and I rightly need you.

Yours Plainly,  
Michael

PS. Thought you’d like to know Tracey ain’t stopped asking after you since you left and it’s got Amanda in a right lurch.  
  


* * *

Michael,

Before I went and left you, know that I didn’t go without sayin’ goodbye. I pressed my lips against yours sweet as a butterfly on a daisy. I was terrified of breakin’ you. Your color was back, your skin warm and welcoming. I was dyin’ fer you, lord to see you after all this time with your spirit back was enough to get me on my knee’s. But I couldn’t stay. I hope someday you’ll forgive me for deprivin’ of you that first hell-o, and that goodbye. But know that you smelled like blood, but you was sweeter than molasses on my lips.

To hear that you forgive me, fir everythin’ that’s happened--I don’t know if I should thank ye or call you a lovesick fool. I will always love you, Michael Townley. I think I was put on this earth and made to walk thru flame and ice just to know you. You’ve been my angel all these years. I suppose that’s how we ended up so stuck up on each other. All we do is look after one another, and git sick with worry if the other don’t follow.

But I can’t do to a family what another man would do to others. Amanda, she ain’t got anybody else in this world, M. And even more so are your children. I would rather drown in an ocean of tears than steal Tracey’s and your baby’s pa. So if I stay, If you’ll have me even still, you promise me you ain’t gonna leave ‘em high and dry. You let me worry about the bad side of the law. Let me be the one to see crimson and beg God fir forgiveness for what I done to my fellow man. And in return, I will always come back to you until my legs don’t work no more and you’ll have to wheel me around same as Crest. 

I need you to think hard on this, M. You waited fer me this long, and I you. When the snow melts an’ the trees start glowin green as emeralds, come find me. I’m stayin about half a mile out of town, near a pond I hear people callin Josiah’s Rest. I’ll wait there everyday come spring time fer you. And if you come back to me, lord knows I ain’t lettin’ you go again.

Before I sign my name once again for you Michael my love, know I’d never known you as a stranger. You will always be apart of me. Even if you’d gone and lost your goddamn mind and didn’t even recognize me no more like my Ma before death come and took her, there’d be no goodbyes. Because how I see it Townley, either you tell me to hit the road, or Lucifer himself best split the Earth now and rip me from yer arms if the world intends to keep us apart.

Keep on yer toes, and mind yer movements. I paid some boys, ten an’ eleven to come on by on Tuesday morn to help on the farm til you can mind it yerself. You hold Tracey tight and kiss the top of her noggin fer me and tell her to be good now. And tell Amanda...well…I just hope she’s well.

Sincerely and Only Yours,  
Trevor  
 

* * *

Trevor,

The days barely got any light left in ‘em, trees dead as it gets and too far from green. I’ve been farming out here a good three years, and I don’t think I’ve given more of damn about winter ending than I do at this moment. I’ve thought enough about it to last me a lifetime — expect me to come down your trail the second this goddamn hell of a season ends. I need you, that much ain’t up for debate anymore, and I have a reckonin’ the rest will fall into place when the weather turns.

Everything else is much the same. The boys you hired did the work and then some, but I let ‘em go last week when I could finally walk without going down like a sack of flour. There ain’t much but jackrabbits to snare, chickens to feed, and horses to keep from freezing — the last of the cattle died off, but we made the best of that any way we could. Some days when it stops snowing and I look up I go blind with all the white on the horizon, the sun shining on it like an endless piece of silver. The rabbits split and twitch across the surface nervously — I think the little fuckers are wisening up to the traps. Anyway, I look at all this and it feels like a different lifetime to the road. Is that crazy? That after half a lifetime of bein’ an outlaw I now remember dyin’ more than I remember killin’? When we were kids I always thought I’d go out over a cliff chasing a stagecoach, or in another buck wild, dumbass way…like a duel over the last bottle of whiskey. It didn't bother me any then, that kind of death…

In any case, it feels like this new world of our’s ain’t got no oceans, though I rightly remember the coast. If ever these fields let up, I reckon we could follow the trail of gold right down to San Andreas where the sun ain’t got no end. We could drink ourselves silly and raise an orchard of some kind, maybe apples or oranges, and on the side wrangle some of those famous wild horses they got down there. I think the warmth would suit you, the light in your hair and on your hands…goddammit I miss you like nothin’ else, but down there there’d be nothin’ else to worry at. We could drink at the saloon some nights and listen to the music coming out of those burning doorways, spilling onto the streets like molasses — I’m ramblin’ aren’t I? You know better than all that though. What with me going on about _my stage shows_ as you used to call ‘em. You know they all told the same stories - love is real, god ain’t so cruel, and people always ride off into a forgivin' sunset. As much as those things have spat on me all my life I think somewhere along the way they got to me…well, ‘cept for the first thing, that is. But don’t fret, I’ll get my mind right back here now. I know they need me, and I damn well carry it every second of the day.

Tracey is goin’ well. Just last week she was practically square dancin’ on my damn nerves singing and runnin’ around, so I sat her down and taught her how to throw a good punch instead. Feel like it’ll come of use some time and I know you’d approve. Besides, if she’s practicin’ her right hook then she’s quiet. Amanda didn’t think it was ladylike, but a threat ain’t chivalrous or it wouldn’t be a threat at all.

By the way I know you dress just as well as a damn bum most of the time and I don’t want you freezin’ to death out here. I’m sending my old tassel jacket along with my word, you always did like to swipe it off me when you had the chance. There’s also a scarf I bought in town. Anyway, what in the hell are you getting to in the middle of this hell frozen-over?

Earnestly Your’s,  
Michael

PS. I wish I was awake for that good-bye, or I’d have stopped your dumbass from leavin’ at all.  
  


* * *

Michael,

I must thank ye for the coat first and foremost. I aint mind the cold, not a bit. Old jack frost could freeze my boy offa my body an’ I wouldn't minded not one. Winters up north in Canada is about ten times as worse as this. For me this is a springtime breeze, but I been wearin that damn coat like a second skin since it came into my hands. But I can't begin to count how many times I hold your coat my nose and breathe you in. Don't matter how big a fire I make myself, it's always you who's keepin’ me warm.  

Fer what I’m out here doin ye ain't gotta pay no mind now. I ain't gettin’ into no trouble, an’ I’m not tryin’ to cause you any worry. Truthfully, I been walkin the empty acres most days. The scorched earth is hidden away by the snow, and the wind has broken down the charred trees. I think on how there use to be life there, M. Someones lives was here and it was gone in a second. You know I don't give much thought to my fellow man. But I do think on how we aint no different from the brothers who done this, we just got lucky. Cut from the same cloth and all of that I suppose.

 I also been thinkin, that maybe when the snow melts and the ground aint frozen no more about buyin’ up my own plot of land. The road still calls me, and damn if I can say no. But if you’re deadset on havin’ me, we ought to have our own place away from peepin’ eyes and children’s running amuck. I can't get you out of my head no better than I did before. I still want ye to think, and use that big brain of yers to consider your options. But all of this heartache is worth it just to know that God is givin’ me the chance to find you at the end of the road. I’m aching to hold you close, someplace no one can stop us. To taste every bit of you and not to fear losin’ you come the next pretty face. Ye wont see me for Christ-mas but, boy if I aint dreamin of us two with our own little tree.

I’m sendin’ along some presents fer that day. It's good you teachin’ Tracey to hit, but a girl should know to shoot and stab just as well. But I also know little girls need other things to do, so I hope the toys i’m sendin’ will be to her likin. I’m sendin’ over a bonnet too fer Amanda, but I wouldn't be surprised if she spat on it. An’ don't think I forgot you, neither, M. But ah…keep the box out of Tracey’s hand huh? It ain't loaded, but the first gun she holds should be the one she shoots herself.

You keep those daydreams close now, M. You always been a dreamer. But the golden hills of San Andreas can wait. I want nothin’ more than a life with you. To wake up every morn to sunshine and your olive eyes is enough to take my breath away. But fer now, we aint of that crop yet. We’ll let the snow of Yankton try to snuff us out but survive all the same. And maybe when Tracey an’ yer baby is grown we can set off on that trail. I’d work myself to death to make you happy. Cook you breakfast every morning and kiss you awake. We’d race those wild horses til the sun set over the Pacific and the moon lit our way back home. But damn it, all I do is live in daydreams. All I ever wanted was you, a million times over. To have that heaven for ourselves, M, I think you’d have to hold my sides just to stop me from fallin’ over.

Crest’s been writin’ me as of late, and work is callin’ me out of Ludendorff fer now. I’ll be back in time fer spring, don't you worry your little head. But don't you go tearin’ up this valley anymore than it already is, boy. Wait fer me, and in return I’ll be waitin’ fer you with wildflowers in one hand and my hat in the other.

Lovingly,  
Trevor

P.S. If you so choose it, we got the rest of our lives for that, sugar.  
  


* * *

T.P,

I don't believe in including sensitive information through the post. But if you’re quite done with this madness you’ve caused in the valley I insist you come out to Victoria. If this past year hasn’t testament to be your own keeper, I’m not sure what is. There's someone out here eager to meet you, and if you’d like to keep on the roster ’d get out here soon.

L.C.  
  


* * *

Trevor, 

My pack had barely hit the floor before I got squared off into a damn fight with Amanda. She came at me like wildfire goin’ on on account of I didn’t send any letters home to say I’d be a day late. It seems every turn I take now gives her the mind that I’d go blazing across the country with you again, and since then I haven’t been able to shake the feelin’ that I just might.

I went through the first few days with my eyes wide and glassy, all the time lost in the crook of that hill with you. Mostly it was those details. Dust in the haze and the ripple of those curtains in the mornings, your hands knotting up in those sheets to leave hard-edge creases in ‘em after. Every damn breath I took I seemed to suffocate on beds of evening stock, scattered over the grass in hollow thickets we went about trampling underfoot. All this colour and noise and fury had me thinkin’ about packin’ one dewy mornin’ and setting out without intent on comin’ home.

But that second morning I woke up and since the sun was up I put that great escape behind me, and was fixin’ to start the farm’s day. Amanda was on the porch, quiet as a storm under clouds and counting her words like a man would cash. The details don’t matter, I suppose, but she started with — _this is a small town, ain’t it, Michael? And you know so well as me, word gets around quickly_ , and folded and stacked all her words carefully, and crowned it with, _I don’t need you anymore, but the children will. And I ain’t intent on wastin’ my life cold and dead to the world — so keep some damn face and I will too._

That was the long ’n short of it. She’ll do as she does and I’ll keep my head in trust that the seasons will turn and sometimes bring ye to me. I love Tracey, and the baby, maybe some part of me still loves Amanda too — but we’ll have to take Sunday mass and do all them chores like a cloth thrown over a face, all of it neat and clean and orderly in order to keep our real lives buried within ourselves. It makes me bitter as hell. It sours the smell of that long-grass and greys spring. I have found that fabled glass bottom of the whiskey bottle most nights since and wake up with a burnin’ head. It damn well makes me feel like I ain’t got right to my own heart, much less will. Maybe it’s the outlaw in me talkin’ now, but it feels like that morning she grabbed the sky and sewed it tightly to the horizon. Now the world ain’t nothin’ but these ten acres and the town. How is it that I’m closer to you, an’ feel the furthest yet?  

But time ain’t waitin’ for me, that much is clear — the fields are just about ready to take on the weight of crops, and droves of rain impatiently rake across the land. The baby is nearly here, maybe even by the time you read this. Tracey restlessly waits every day for the early evenin’ when I take her round on that old, hunched pony and teach her to hold the reins right. And some days ago there was news that old Johnston sold his plot to some fat cat that came up from Texas or there abouts. It’s the same story with some places on the other side of town — makes me curious as to what his fixin’ to do with it all. How’s that ranch and piece of land you’d been meanin’ to buy? What was that town you mentioned two hours west? Wolf Creek?

I been thinkin’ about it a lot. How it’s a good cover for winter outlaw work, and brings a decent enough stipend.  But, Trevor, you’re cut from the same cloth as me and being tied down is just about the slowest death in the world. I don’t wanna string you up from this life and kick the stool out from under you. As much as I want you for myself I need you to know this ain’t easy. Likely won’t ever be —  I won’t take fault at you if you don’t want any part in it. You don’t gotta make good on your promise. I don’t want you payin’ for my mistakes by killin’ that fire in ye and selling your saddle. You could go tomorrow and I won’t say a damn thing. I’ll carry this first week of spring on my back for as long I can breath, and it’ll have to be enough. I’ll _make it_ be enough…some nights after all is said and done I burn a lamp on the porch, face east toward yours and I think on how I could reach you in an hour’s sprint, but get into my cups instead until I can’t see nothing but darkness anymore. I told you if I started I didn’t think I’d ever be able to stop. Memories get ripped out of me like a gutted caribou worse’n ever now, and I can’t get it to stop. Maybe I’m just greedy as all hell to want for ye every second of the day instead of every season’s pass for a few weeks at a time — but what does that leave us Trev?

Your’s,  
Michael  
  


* * *

M,

I ain’t stopped thinkin’ of you since you left me some weeks ago. In the morn I still call your name and fix you a plate of grub like a damn fool. Ye was only with me only a few days, but here I am acting like it was years.  

I still hold those sheets to my nose and just breathe. I’m a greedy man, wanting more than I can of you, I know ain’t right. But now it’s like that fire you stirred up in my chest when we first met is back with a vengeance and it’s makin’ me sick. I’d give all the cash I got for just one more day with you, M. I’d let the lord take both my legs just to have you longer. But like I said, I’m a damn fool. I’m grateful of you, you’re the only gift God ever gave me but like everythin’ else it comes at a price. I sit in that cottage we spent those days in watchin’ the ghosts of us. Yesterday some wild mustangs passed by the land. I saw them tear through the plains like a wild twister down south. It made me right sad, remembering that we use t’ be like that. We ran wild as they did, just the two of us most days roaming God’s unforgiving plains. If we needed one another there was no question, no letters, or fear. You’d think after so many years I would just see the time you took me by that lake the first time as just another memory but it ain’t. I remember that wild look in your eyes when you’d kiss me, sweat and blood on your lips. God, my Michael, we’re really in it now. And now look at us, settlin fer a few weeks out of the season isn’t enough but it’s all we got. I imagine that now that we ain’t alone no more, we’d best be watchin’ ourselves too. It aint fuckin’ right. And I ain’t fixin to set here pretending it’s enough.

I got half a mind to tell Amanda to wisen up, that I’d give a million lifetimes to have what she’s got. But I also know it ain’t easy. She’s got two babies and a ranch to care for when we’re out here pretendin’ we’re youngin’s again. I say whatever she wants, give it to her and I’ll throw my hat in too. I got another taste of you, M and I can’t so easily pretend I don’t need it no more. Even while i’m writin’ this my heart’s beatin’ faster than anythin’ else just because I know you’s gonna hold this letter at some point. My god, I’m drownin just at the thought of you again.

I been thinkin on that plot of land. I figure I ought to make a move now and start buildin’ myself a nice little place that’ll be yours too. Ye remember that new partner I told ya about? He dont quite understand my need to get away. I aint gonna tell ‘im anymore than he need know. I aint fixin to make the land to take seed. I spent too much time in vineyards and strawberry fields growin’ up. But a mans gotta make a livin’ that aint lootin’ if he dont want folks thinkin’ hes a thief when he really is I suppose. Now you aint to follow me, M. Traceys gotta learn to hold her footin’ on a mustang yet and that baby aint even come ‘round yet. But I cant say I dont miss you by my side.

B, he’s fine, I suppose. He’s an alright shot, got some muscle to him too; He knows his way ‘round a liquor bottle too which is just as well. I guess I been spoiled from travelin’ with you that nobody else measures up. But he’s a quick one, always fixin to ring up Crest even though we only just taken one place. I told him I’d be out a few months now and gave him part of my cut from that first job to hold ‘im over. Suppose its rash to be makin such assumptions of the boy when we’ve only worked a single job, but there somethin’ I aint sure what about him. Maybe its just that I miss you out there with me. No one can stir up that giddy feelin’ I get when I watch you go tearin’ through the plains, gun in hand, face covered in my bandana. Maybe its because I fell in love with my you that I aint fixin’ to be trustin’ Bradley yet. I suppose time will tell. If things dont work out he’ll be the one hung from the trees, not me.

Days aint been the same without you, thats the truth. I’m still near, but I dont know how long. Feels like each day i’m only wakin’ up because if I dont then I’ll all do is wait fer you to come stir me. I keep imaginin a place of our own. A little cottage that turns to life come spring and autumn time. Maybe when the kids is grown we can make good on that San Andrean dream and ride til we hit the majestic. I make it known I hate damned farm work, but I hardly mind long days if it means long nights with you in my arms. Damned if I cant see it: acres of apples, a million stars above us, brilliant blue ocean to the west. We’d sit out on the porch drinkin’ whiskey not outta pain but just to warm us in the night. I’d kiss the mole on your cheek, maybe even take you right at the front door if you’d oblige me Mister Townley. Damn whoever came by with their noses upturned, we’d be happy. _Happy,_ I only feel that when I’m near you. Damn it.

I miss you. I told Bradley I’d return to Victoria come the 24th of next month. Come see me again, wont you? I feel like a real jackass to tear you away, but damn it, Michael...I dont even have the words to express how much I just wanna see your face.

Come back to me again. I love you.

Always,  
Trevor  
  


* * *

Dear T,

The baby was born a week out an’ I got my hands full until at least the middle of next month. I have to go now, but I’ll make good and come see you before ye leave for Victoria.

Yours,  

M

PS. Amanda raised hell when I brought up your name again, but I snuck it as his middle name in the registry — James Trevor De Santa.

* * *

Michael,

I miss you worse than ever before. I bought that plot of land out near Wolf’s Creek, and damn near laughed myself to death signin’ my name. I aint never been one to own nothin, hell I aint even own my own heart no more. But it's a real pretty place, trees all around, a stream just a short walk away fer fishin’ and frog catchin’ (You remember when I taught you that? The look on your face when that toad went and kicked you in the face I’ll never forget).

I worked a job just before signin’ the papers. I didnt tell you about it since I aint had much warnin’ myself before it fell in my hands. I had a word with Bradley that he cant be throwin’ work at me like that, but he dont listen. _We’re in the business of money,_ he says, _we gotta jump at every rabbit come cross our fields._ He aint wrong, not at all. But I aint no kid anymore, and Brad is only a year younger than me. But fer some reason he dont get that its better to wait on a $100 payout than a $50. No matter now anyway, didnt get scratched or nothin an’ I went and bought myself some stone and lumber fer the cottage. It's only a frame right now but just you wait. Whats that you said to me once ‘bout copper knobs?

Hows baby James and little Tracey? She must’ve just started school this autumn huh? Girl is smarter than a whip, I cant even imagine what’ll become of us when they teach her to read. I still remember that terrible winter last year, when you was shot and near death. I’d come inside from tendin the animals or choppin wood and she’d be sittin by the window tryin’ to read that book I had on me. By the time I left she knew _Angel_ and _Blessed._ Wish I coulda taught her to read swears like her mama, but Amanda I reckon would’ve killed me.

Last I saw James he was a tiny lil monster practically bit off my damn finger with his gums. I love that little guy, hes got Amanda’s fire and your eyes. 

When I went into town I heard talk of a man named _Weston_ causin’ a stir out your way. I remember you told me last spring ‘bout him, how he took Johnson’s farm. He aint givin’ you any trouble is he? Because I’d knock his goddamn teeth in if he threatened your homestead. He aint made no moves on Wolf’s Creek just yet, but folks are buzzin’ even still.

Watch your liquor too, Michael. I miss you like hell, but aint nobody benefitin’ from you wakin’ up worse every mornin’. When you come out here again we’ll get blind faced drunk and sing under the stars. Til then watch yourself.

Women in this town are quick to jump to their heels when I walk by. Suppose word of a man without a woman spreads quick when theres five girls ‘round town of marryin’ age with only they cousins to see. I already been out once with one girl, just not to raise a brow. Reminded me of when we was young and didnt know no better yet. Remember Ruby from Carcer City and her tight little corset? I aint goina lie, I still look at women same as I do men. But I dont rightly know what I’d think if you’d told me, twenty-one years of age tired and spent after a night with Ruby that I’d grow up to fall in love with my partner and best good friend. Even farther, if you told me that I’d dream of a place of our own and that I kissed him when he was away from his wife and children I’d likely laugh in your face.

I aint gonna leave til the snow starts to fall again. I miss you like crazy. Come see me soon, or I may just run to yer farm myself on my own too feet. Lord, I’m so sick with thoughts of you. I love you, M.

Forever Yours,  
Trevor 

P.S. Hows the rear doin? Gotta say, as much as I love ridin’ yer saddle, I always get a kick outta the face you make when it's mine you’re red-faced and sayin’ my name like a hymn.  
 

* * *

L.C,

Couple months ago you fixed Trevor up with that new partner o’ his, Bradley Snider. I don’t know where you dug him up, but his workin’ on your word. Watch T’s back, I don’t want him gettin’ sore on account of you. Don’t get lax on this or I swear I’ll rip you out of whatever hell hole you’re stuck in an’ put so many bullets in you, you’ll be sifter enough to pan gold with.  

Cordially,  
M.D.  
  


* * *

Trevor,

This morning I took my hat off the nail, halfway out the door with dew already gathering on my heels, thinking of the heavy harvest, the men comin’ in to plow the field, a million things and thinkin’ of you too — that if I can set to work hard enough I’ll be done not a week to Christ-mas and I can come see you. But December is a long ways away from September. No sooner did I open the door than I came face to face with Weston himself, hands on his belt like he was fixin’ to lay down the law. That Son of a Bitch had this look in his eyes like we were already through and he hadn’t said a word. He wants the land, every last inch. The cattle and the ponies, the last goddamn chook to the egg it’s still holdin’ to lay. He sat there at my table, tamped down his pipe and filled the room with smoke. I damn near pulled out my pistol and showed him the bright side. Had this feelin’ like I did back in the day, when time slowed down and all I could see was blood…then he says, _I know you Michael Townley and the scorched earth you’ve left behind. You don’t get it easy — think on this carefully, ‘cause I can take it all and then some._

My hands went numb, and it’s still got me foaming at the mouth. After all we’ve been through to get this set up…I can’t let it go, T. In any case I told him as much, my eyes burning in my head. Smug whoreson fuck just shrugged and says, _well if you can find it to do me some work in your real area of expertise, then maybe we got a deal after all._ Didn’t give no details, just said he’d be around, that his watchin’ closely enough. I figure I got no choice but to cut the losses and do the work. At worse it’ll be a bank job, maybe a few stick ups — whatever it is, we’ve probably survived worse. Still…makes me blind savage thinkin’ he can walk right in and take everything. I expect the job will crop up soon enough, and things are quiet again for the time bein’. T, don’t go doin’ anything foolish like last time, we can think on it more if I can get down to visit ye soon.

Now, for your job — don’t let this Bradley jackass tell you he knows better. You been doin’ this long enough and well enough to call the shots in your gut. And make damn sure to keep Lester on his tail, he’ll know what to do. I’d hate for you to go an’ get your ass kicked or worse for a take as measly as $50. And I’d have to tell ye I got a bad feelin’ about Brad, or maybe if I set to be honest I’d tell you it makes me right sore that he get’s to be with ye on the jobs instead of me. Still, I might just believe you when you say you got one hell of a frame down in Wolf’s Creek, but I’d say stay away from them damn frogs. Not a single funny thing about those slippery fuckers, and you know it too. I know you just like to get a rise outta me, but I’d give you my mind on it all the same if I see so much as a tadpole in that creek.  

The kids are good too, Tracey did go up an’ start school. She seems to like it well enough, has made buckets of friends. Though I worry she didn’t listen well enough when I said the fist I taught her to throw was for a right cause only. Jimmy is fine, a right handful and always tryin’ to pin them poor chooks by their tail-feathers. 

I surely did catch wind in town that you were goin’ with Ava Burke. Seems like she’s set her hat for you. I suppose I don’t blame her an’ the rest of the girls — not every day a tall man with all the right assets comes along and makes smiles like there’s a sure fire in him. I wouldn’t blame you none if you went marrying one of ‘em too. If yer fixin’ to settle I can’t make some bullshit claim on you, Trevor. And I know what you say, but I can’t seem to stop thinking there’s a day when someone else will take that shine outta your eyes. I can’t give you everything…come winter I always get knotted up thinkin' you’re gone for good, that Josiah’s Rest and Wolf’s Creek will be ash on the spring grass. That you finally got sick of waitin’ on me an’ living this life in pieces with one foot out the door.

Any case we still got what’s left of this fall. I’ll come see you ‘round October so if the land and Weston let up. I’ll try my damn best. Can’t seem to shake the feelin’ of you anyhow.

Yours,  
Michael

P.S. Probably the best ridin’ I had in my sorry life, T.  
  


* * *

Trevor,

After all the hustlin’ I did to make it down to ye before winter…an’ you were a miles gone already. Josiah’s Rest was quiet enough to hear a button drop and a wind came whistlin’ across the flatlands and into the gully, the pond spillin’ out on the side and whippin’ my reins. I sat on your sorry porch for half the damn day, watching the sun get spent like a right fool, thinkin’ you’d come racing down the hill like you did that first time. Then I notice an inch of dust on your sills, the grass where your pony grazes was overgrown and your roof in shambles. I even rode up to Wolf’s Creek to make sure. But I found nothin’ but your frame rotting to the core and some quarry rocks. No head or tail or a letter to tell you were fixin’ to leave.

Damn you Trevor, all I did was wait all this time. I’d sit on the porch and wonder what you did every evening. If you’ve made off with some girl or that Brad let me know now so I don’t waste another winter with my gut in fuckin’ shreds; losin’ heart to the thought of you arched up under me. I told you, if ye don’t want this life to tell me an’ get going, but you have the stones to keep me in the dark like this. God damn you  — I ain’t some kind of cheap piece who’ll wait for you to blow into town every now and again an’ gratefully get on my knees an’ thank you. So you best get that fuckin’ right.  

Besides which I finished Weston’s first job, but he came back with a second — it’ll fall on the 3rd of January, in the thick of the snow. The first one was already close as anything, and I ain’t sure how to brave this next one — it’s not well enough funded, and the rest of the crew is wet behind the ears. I can’t tell you nothin’ in the letters, but I may be in deeper’n expected. If you’re done with us that’s just fine, but I need you as a friend…they got my arm twisted to tight I can barely turn around.

Michael  
  


* * *

Trevor,

The snow is all gone and every step is mud an’ grit. The March sun hangs as a bright spectre in the air and the hollows in the ferns make like a labyrinth to another world. All the flowers have come up in wet blooms but there hasn’t been head or tail of you since fall. I’m tired as all hell with Weston’s job, busted my shoulder two weeks out on the third. Amanda has gotten wind of it, but she didn’t say a word — seems after all these years it’s dawned on her that sometimes we don’t get choices.

I’m patterin' to avoid what I’m really writin’ about, so I’ll get right to it —  I came out to your cabin some days ago, as soon as spring swung ‘round and left the rest of the letters I’d written you in winter. I came close to burning ‘em, every last one, but the truth is even if you never read ‘em it’s comfort that I left them for you anyhow. Josiah’s Rest was in pieces. The winter snow meltin’ had rotted the wood all the way through, and every stone was cold with moss. Wolves across the pond were lapping wildly at the water when I came through, watchin’ me with their hungry yellow eyes. I shot them all before they could fling into the tall grass or into the woods, their carcasses scattered across the hills we walked last spring. I’m coming to think of that time like a hazy dream, your head in my lap while you dozed off and I read you Whitman mindlessly. Swimmin’ in the cold lake when the sun was highest and…well it’s no fuckin’ use talkin’ about it now I s’pose.  

I know you have probably made off for someone else like the son of a bitch you are, but some part of me can’t let up. I lose sleep to the thought of your body mangled on tracks, or shot through with bullets, heart cold in your chest, or cut down on some distant plain where I won’t see you again. Not alive at least. I’m goin’ crazy checkin’ every obituary from here to three counties over every week. I’ve tried hard this last winter to stop givin’ a damn, but this much I need to know. Don’t come back, not ever if yer not fixin’ to, but disregard these thoughts of you in me if you ever meant a single word you’ve said. Don’t make sweet on me, Trev. Cut me loose.  

In case you see this Weston’s got another job next month. I ain’t sure how it’ll go — we’re blowin’ up some tracks east of Minnesota and the law there is hot for us.

Write back if this reaches you.  

Michael  
  


* * *

L.C, 

Any word of Trevor?  

M.D.  


* * *

Michael my love,

Fuck.  

I aint know how to write no more. I'm sick with the thought of you, my insides turned up worse than a twister. I’ll stop myself now and just tell yous, I mean no ill will. I aint never burdened you with a fib. Better I slit my own wrists than betray m’ own flesh and blood. Thats why I gotta fix myself to write the truth, even if I got eyes everywhere. I was sittin out on the porch late three nights gone smokin’ my pipe. I was fixin’ to head out to Josiah’s Rest, git any mail you went and sent me and make the place nice and pretty fer us. October is already bringin’ frost and I expect snow aint far away now. I was smilin’ like a damn imbecile imaginin’ the wrinkles around yer eyes when ye smile big like last spring. Imagined how I’d run my hands long your skull, kissin’ your sunkissed skin to my hearts content. I’m silly, we been runnin’ how long now? But I still think of you the same as I did that first night out in Harnsey, when I shot that man dead fer you. You’re a god damn picture, Townley, and I cant stop lookin’ at you an’ tryin’ to find you everywhere I go.

But next thing I know, I see a dust cloud comin’ up round the dirt road to the west. Course i’m fixin’ to get a special message from ol’ Crest via his courier boys but it wasn't my night. Its Bradley come around, this fuckin’ smirk on his face thats makin’ me madder than a god damn hornets nest now that I think back. So be comes by, says he just wants to say _‘Howdy’_ but its funny workin’ with crooks when you’re one too. I knew he was hidin’ his intentions, so I told him to lay it out plain and simple. So he did.

He knows, M. ‘Bout us, ‘bout everythin’ we ever written to each other. I’m a god damn fool, shouldve burned every letter I ever got from you to protect us. But instead I went an’ kept it in a box, buried it ‘round that tree we use to sit under at Josiah’s Rest. I tell Brad i’ll cut him to pieces just holdin’ somethin so precious but hes got a gun to my head now, M. I looked into those eyes and told him I’d be fixin’ to send him to hell for even sayin’ your name. But there was nothin’ there M, not even a twinge of fear, because we’d lose it all if I killed him then. Boy aint fixin to pull jobs just only durin’ the Summers and Winters. Says I gotta do this, or he’ll hand all of those letters over to folk we cant let know about any of this. Folk who aint got no problem stringing us up like they did Jericho and Pa years ago. They’d destroy us, and your family too, and I cant abide by that. So he says he’s hidden them, two different boxes across two counties. He’ll gimmie the key when he says I’s earned them. Lord, if he goes back on this, I’ll kill every man from here to Tennessee just to keep you safe, M. But fer now I gotta comply, gotta do whatever he asks. Know I aint gone fer good, I just gotta do this. And when I come back I swear I aint lettin’ you go again.

There's somethin’ eatin’ at me now. I’m miles away, crossed railroads and county lines but I cant shake the feelin’ theres more eyes on us than ever before. M, I dont think its safe fer me to say here, but I dont think--I dont think my problem is just Bradley, and I dont think yours is Weston. I wont go tearin no throats apart again, we gotta be smart now. I hate walkin’ round like a damn dog with my tail between my legs but we have to do this now. I’m not gonna lie, I feel nothin’ but pained worry imagin’ you workin’ again. They aint lookin’ out fer you, M. Those men, they’re the worst kind of criminals, ones who think they got sense because they got cash. The only law a man needs is loyalty, and I know sure as shit none of them live by even that. Dont believe a word that man says, I know you wanna keep the farm but dont. A man like that will tear you and your family limb from limb and then dance to a merry ol’ tune a top the graves. I’m sendin’ you all the cash I got on my persons. It aint much, but take it. Go west, dont tell me where just yet. When you go, tell L.C., he’ll know what to do.  

Lord, I cant fucking sleep like this. I’m up half the night terrified that I’m losin’ you and I aint even know. But dont think i’m blind to the irony...if this is what I put you through every time the seasons change, I’m surely sorry. Michael, love of my miserable life, go in God’s light, I beg of you. Dont take no unnecessary risks, dont pull a gun unless you gotta, tell Tracey and Jimmy how much you love ‘em every second of every day. I’m right fuckin terrified of what daybreak brings. Forget about me fer now. When I come back, we’ll make Weston and Snider eat the shit on our boots. 

Always,  
Trevor  
  


* * *

M,

I know I said not forget me, but were you really able to do just that so damn easily? Christ-mas has come and went, this cold is fixin’ to make me lose my goddamn fingers. Lucky enough fer me, Bradly lost one the other day. Boy was blubbering the entire time, I dont even think I’ve told ‘im ‘bout the time I got my damn finger sewn back to my knuckle.

Bradley aint you, M. I know before you said you worry, but trust me when I say I have never been more disgusted in one of God’s creatures than I have knowing this man. We aint even workin’ with Crest no more, which makes all of this even worse. I just about almost let him bleed out when we cut his finger off. Told myself damn the letters, I let him die an’ I’d be free. But then I remembered you aint fairin’ no better so I gotta stick it out.

I’m sendin’ some dollars your way again. If you aint gotten out yet, maybe you could buy Tracey and James some belated christmas presents from me? I miss those kids like they’re my own, and get right ready to cry when I remember they aint gonna stop growin’ up just because I aint there to see ‘em neither. Whats the sayin’? It takes a village? I’m sure Amanda hates that I’m part of that little village.

Out of everything, I miss you. I cant hardly sleep no more, and my eyes get tired readin’ every obituary I come across to make sure you aint been kissed by the devil yet. I need you safe in my arms again, M. I keep telin’ myself _“Just a little longer”_ but nothin’ sticks. All that keeps me goin’ are those memories of spring, the warmth of the sun on your cheeks, the smell of the mountains on your neck. God damn it, write to me, M. I know I said not to, but just send me a note every now an’ again, let me know you aint belly up somewhere I cant find you. You know I’ll surely do the same.

Love always,  
Trevor  
  


* * *

Michael,

Feels like its been years since I wrote you now, M. But I come to find it's only February, only two months since I last tried to reach you. Are you there? If it aint safe, just tell me what you named your old pistol and I’ll stop these letters. Please. Let me know you’re safe.

I’m sendin’ my earnings again. I hope you’re savin’ fer a brighter future, or that you’re already there.

Love,  
Trevor  
  


* * *

Michael,

I know its Tracey’s birthday ‘round this time. March right? I’m sendin’ eveythin’ I got. Get her something nice wont you? I remember last time I saw her she had her eye on a slingshot like Moss Evan’s boy had.

I love you, same as before. Write to me soon. If not out if love, out of kindness. I aint heard a word from anybody out there and I’m right terrified. 

With love,  
Trevor

* * *

M,

Please. Even just a slate with your initals will do enough. Let me know you’re out there. 

Sincerely,  
T  
  


* * *

Trevor,

Forgive me if I havent been able to write as often as before. You know what they say, April showers should bring May flowers. But those showers are family life and work with Devin Weston has left me little to no time for our exchanges

If I’m honest with you Trevor, I’m unsure as to why you bother going on as you do. Work with Weston is far better than what we ever earned runnin’ jobs with Crest. Weston says he’s got ties with poets and writers, artists out in the west he says I could meet. Not to mention I hardly need your pocket money with what he’s payin’ me. If you had half a mind you’d leave Crest alone and come work for Weston with me. We could be together again, Trevor. Just you, me, and a trail of gold from here to the Pacific just ripe for the taking.  

Me and Amanda been making more of these lonely nights as of late. Jimmy’s a handful at his age, but we wonder if just a boy and a girl is enough. We’ve been considering havin’ another baby. Accidents happen all too often, and last thing we need is just one girl with a name that’ll be erased once she weds in a few years time.

Do what you will but I say leave those idea’s of us in your mind. If you keep on with Crest and Bradley, then you’ve surely given up on us. How could you be such a coward when what we always wanted is right in front of us now? I thought I knew a man, not a boy.

Best,  
Michael Townley  
  


* * *

Michael You Goddamn Son of a Whore,

May fuckin’ flowers? How dare you you son of a god damn bitch. after months and months of silence you call me a fuckin’ coward for risking my hide keepin’ you safe?

I aint even know what to say to you. I just about tore up that fuckin’ letter, and I got half a mind to do it anyway. Here I am sick with worry, thinkin’ that you’re suffering but you’re the same fuckin’ menace. I didn’t think it possible but you’re meaner than ever before you feckless son of a bitch. How can you talk about your own children like that? Is everyone just a fuckin’ tool to you?

What am I, huh? The dumbass who lets you ride him like a mustang, and ‘s dumb enough to keep comin’ back? The mad dog you can use to fix problems without stainin’ your shirt? You know I’m a fool, I know it too. But never in my whole god damn life did I think you’d do this to me. Maybe I ought to just kill Bradley, then ride like a storm back east and kill Weston too. That’d make you happy, wouldnt it? Me losin’ my fuckin’ mind again just because you done this to me. Fuck you, Michael. Damn you to hell for doing this to me. Damn you for everything. 

Trevor J. Philips

P.S. Happy birthday ye sack of horse shit of a man.  


* * *

T.P,

M has asked of you. There's watchers all over there. Tread lightly, things are not what they seem.

Sincerely,  
L.C.

P.S. I know. Loosen a bolt and the tension on the mechanism will relieve. Be sure to replace it soon, a rifle only works if each part does its job.  
  


* * *

Amanda,

My time is running short. This morning I got called out by Weston for another job on the 23rd. I’ve gone out to see to the details.

For now, pack the kids up, and anythin’ else they might need. Loosen the sheep, shake the cattle out of the field — shoo all the animals down to the last goddamn field mouse living under the porch if ye can. And let all the horses free too, save for the pair of old mares — saddle them up to the stagecoach. Meet me on the bridge with everything, half gone seven.  

Don’t be late,  
Michael

P.S. Don’t let this note sit on the kitchen table for long. Burn it so soon as you get it.   
  


* * *

L.C,

I’m writing to you from the side of the trail runnin’ south-east to Iowa, in the smallest of morning lights. L, I razed the damn farm. I’d been planning for some time but I managed to pull out the electric cables from the ends of dynamite at the quarry. I knotted them and made a delay-fuse and when the time came and the winds rose I took my chance. The farms burned for miles, took with it all of the spring harvest waiting to be picked up and put on the rail by the farm-hands so it could sell up north.

Now, we’re hidden in the depth of thicket and brush, no campfire. I’ve heard Weston’s men shaking the road all night long, their split hooves clopping across the land, searching. Yelling and yipping to one another over our heads in a language that seems to have lost it’s humanness and become something wild and feral instead. The children have only just fallen asleep and quit their cryin’. I don’t know how safe we are. I don’t know for how long me and two four-round colt pistols can protect them, but I’ll try my damn best — till my last breath. If they make it and I don’t, you know what I expect of you.

As for T, I don’t know if you ever made good on findin’ him, L. Or if all the letters were intercepted…I ain’t sure of anything no more, not even my own goddamn hands. I don’t know if you’ve found him dead or alive, sick or well…but if his got ears enough to listen tell him I waited — by God I waited so fuckin’ long as I could hold myself for him. For us. But on that last job, when I refused to do the next, Weston raised a barrel easy as breathin’ to my head. He smiled — he fuckin’ smiled and looked into my goddamn eyes, _I’ve been meaning to speak to you. Trevor is dead, you best set your hat for greener grass and a way to make some real cash for that brood of your’s_.

L, it’s been half a year with no word of him at all…six months, L, Its nearly June and not a breath…I’m rightly sick with worry…fear. I don’t trust a word from Weston, but I can’t risk everything, my family, on account of a dead man. If I were alone I’d have stayed until I died waitin’ on him 

Only one thing‘s for certain — it makes no sense to keep drinkin’ from a poisoned well. I’ll be sending this on the postal at Council Bluffs, Iowa. We’re fixin’ to get on the Overland Route train straight to San Andreas. I ain’t got a fixed address there yet, but expect another letter if we ever reach the Pacific. Though it’s a long way and it may be slow gettin’ to you.

Regards,  
M.D.  
  


* * *

L.C,

Very short of time. We’ve made it fine enough to the train save a scrape or two few weeks into May — details later. Currently, we’ve stopped a brief while in New Mexico while the train picks up supplies.

Hope this finds you well.  

Regards,  
Michael  
  


* * *

L.C,

We finally reached San Andreas safe enough on the first of June. On the trail leading to the train we almost had some trouble, but it passed us when another group came by and ensured safety in numbers. For now I’m holding work at an orchard oversettin’ the Great Chaparral. The address we have now is modest but we’re safe and I’m going to by Michael Clark. If you can find a way to pick up some of my bonds from the bank in Ludendorff and send them along I’d rightly appreciate that too. After all if any man could do it, it’s you.

Tell T where to find me if…well, just tell him. Before I left North Yankton I swung back round to Josiah’s Creek and picked up the letters that had been collecting dust on his floor. I’ve put them and then one with this package in hope that they will reach him, somehow.

I ain’t gonna set to blethering around the bush — if he is dead write me back at once. Do me the goddamn courtesy of being straightforward. Tell me how and when and who so I can go pay my due respects and mourn him right.

Regards,  
Michael  
  


* * *

Trevor,

I hit the Pacific this June. The orchard I’ve taken place in is full and bright, the trees bowed under the weight of all that fruit. The water laps up in bright waves and the air smells like salt and gold. Still, all of it washes over me like winter wind. Cold and unforgiving, all of it feels like a betrayal to you. That it was _our_ dream and I took hold of it alone. I thought all along my dream was the Pacific and the ocean and this _city of Saints_ was a place I’d make a home of...I reached the promised land and without you it turned to ash in my hands, brother. 

Amanda and the children are well. Though they tread lightly around me with yer name…I can’t help it, last week Tracey asked after you and I flew into a blind rage. Said to her that we weren’t likely to see you again, not in this lifetime. It was the wrong thing to say, but I had no control over myself, T. She said your name and it’s was like a rubber band snapped in my chest, like someone dug their hands right in and ripped every last thing out. Some kind of reality I’ve been boardin’ up behind rows and rows of bottles and late nights. I’m a fuckin’ no good mop now if ye can’t tell. But I can’t help that none either, every second in my right mind makes me burn with guilt — I should have been there for you, I should have goddamn protected you, I should have come down to see you at Josiah’s Rest sooner, or warned ye off from Ludendorff all together when I had the chance, I should never have walked away from ye in the first place. This is my debt — this land of plenty that makes torture of everything I wanted. I got greedy and couldn’t stand every second season…I wanted it all, every day and all nights…well, God knows I’ll pay for it until I’m dead in a gutter too. I know I deserve it as much as the hell waitin’ for me in the next life.

I can’t let go no matter how hard I try. Not until I’m certain of you, I won’t be let up from this water I’m held under. I can’t help it, I simply can’t. Even then I ain’t sure which way it’ll all fold. I’m tired…so dog-tired and sick of it all. All these distances and oceans between us. Maybe even death itself.

Yours,  
Michael  
  


* * *

L.C, 

I hate your damn riddles, Crest, would it kill ye to be clear fer once? Tellin’ me gun metaphors when you and me both know you aint know shit about them.

But I read. I’ll be fixin’ fer a replacement, but I dont know that I right trust you with the part. I think its time I find go back to me roots, back to what I trust, whats sturdy and strong. Something fat but strong. Something with a better ass. But for now i’ll be careful, I swear it.

T.P.  
  


* * *

L.C, 

His head gone and rolled off his goddamn body.  I am aware its barely been a damn month since I last wrote but hear me: I kept him alive all this time, I was gonna be smart. But then I find every letter I sent to Michael from last September in his pack. And I just cant rightly so deal with anymore goddamn mail fraud. For fucks sake this is America, Crest!

So his head’s gone. I left it on his lap but i’m sure the crows will feast upon the jackass before anyone finds him tied up still. Not like anybody is gonna recognise his ugly mug after the number I done to him.

Wherever Michael is, send him this and the letter I’m sendin’ along side this one. If he’s dead, point me where he’s buried and who held the gun. I’ll make them eat shit before the Lord’s day.

T.P.  
  


* * *

Michael Mine,

I dont know what to say, anymore. The devil went and stole my words an’ now I gotta fix to send you my thoughts. I should start by sayin’, I’m sorry. And secondly, I’m fine, but I wasn’t before.

You were right to not trust Bradley, that fuckin’ snake was playin’ me, you, and Crest from the beginning. I didn’t know it then, but I know now that our problems wasn’t one of different worlds, M. Now I dont know if you ever got my letters, I kept writin and writin, because I cant let you go. But Bradley had yours, all this time I thought you’d gone and forgotten about me...given up on me for good...my heart was in shambles. I cried so much I was afraid I was goina dry out just about every night. Michael, my love, thorn in my side, I saw your words written in pain and anger and felt every last word. And trust me when I say, I aint never fixed to make you feel that way. But lord, I’ll tear this earth apart to make it right, skin the men who tried to play us fer fools and use us like dogs. I already did in one, Bradley.

I cant remember what I wrote you before, so forgive me if I’m repeatin’ what you already know. But Bradley had the letters you’d sent me all these years, I kept ‘em in a little box I buried between the roots of the tree we use to sit under that spring we spent in Josiah’s Rest. Lord, that feels like a lifetime ago. When I was gettin’ lonely or wonderin’ if any of this was real, I’d read those letters and remember how much I been in love with you all this time. But he was holdin’ them under lock and key, tellin’ me that once I made him enough money he’d tell me where they was. I was right terrified, M, I didn’t care that I was staring down the barrel of a gun. I was scared that I was gonna lose you because I was a careless lovesick fool. Its been months now, and I still am. But he never hid them away, he kept them on his pack, hidden in his bible. But that aint all I found, M. I found letters between him and Weston, them sayin’ things ‘bout us I think you need to see. Weston wanted us doin’ his dirty work all along, and Bradley was workin’ for him from the start. I aint a smart, man, M. But I’m sure that Weston’s got my words to you, like Brad had yours.

A long ways ago, I thought you wrote me, and even now I’m wonderin’ if its real or not. Part of me is yellin’ that you could never be so cruel, not in all your years to say what ye said to me. That its just Weston who done wrote it since Bradley was stupid as tar and couldn’t write like you do. But another part of me is remindin’ me that I been stealin’ you all my life. Maybe what was in that last letter really was you, and my hurt is just because I always knew it was true. I got it on me, thing is like poison in my hands I cant bare to look at. I’m sendin’ it along with this, because I dont frankly think I can live with it in my possession.

Michael Townley, I been in love with you all my life. You’re somethin’ I can’t get rid of, no matter what I do you’s always on my thoughts, always on my mind. I ever tell you about 1875? Crops turned to dust, men turned to animals under the scorchin’ sun that burned the dead land’s my kin called home. We was starvin’, out of our goddamn minds most everyday. I was only a boy, but I knew then how much I wanted death. The things my family had to do to survive is why I aint never gonna let nobody touch a hair on your children’s heads. Its why I aint never thought ‘bout havin’ my own family with little ones runnin’ about and a wife on my arm. That year was the worst of my life, and the things that happened I see every night I shut my eyes. I use to think that year was the longest in my life, but I was wrong. We been apart almost a year, but it feels like it’s been decades. I been shot, stabbed, and maimed this past year, M. When my legs gave out when we was stuck out in the desert I crawled on my hands and knee’s until we reached a rock to hide from the sun. I watched cruelty I aint never fixed to seein’ again, things that made even my stomach turn in knots and my heart skip a beat. I could’ve handled that, I could get my head cut off and be right as rain if you was the one with me. This world aint meant for men like me an’ you, M. Its why we was always fixin’ to cause trouble and steal whatever we could to survive because it was the only way we could. But we had each other, and at least fer me, just havin’ you made all these years worthwhile.

I know it’s a mountain of favours I done asked you, M. But I’m beggin’ you, let me come back to you. Let me hold you one last time, or ask me to stay and I swear I’ll never let you go again. I’ll buy us a piece of land, tend it and plant you whatever fruit tree’s you dreamed of. You keep raisin’ your children, and then when Jimmy goes off to school and Tracey’s doin’ the same we can be together forever this time.

If you cant stomach me, if you hate me worse than you ever hated anybody you done ever known, thats okay, M. But dont you go quiet on me, you understand? You tell me it’s done and over and you’ll never see hide nor hair of me again. But if you’d have me back...lord, if you’d have me back--I dont know what I’d do, besides kill Weston and spend the rest of my days fixin’ to makin’ you so happy that smile on your face never goes away again.

All I know is that this lonely road never changes, but it’s worth the pain knowin’ that you’re at the end of it.

Yours Eternally and Faithfully,  
Trevor Julien Philips  


* * *

Sugar,

I got your letter just after I went and sent mine. Lester told me where to find you. I'm coming. 

Wait fer me.

Yours,  
Trevor


	3. PART III

* * *

Trevor,

It’s the dead of the night. The July heat threatin’ to take me. Ungodly hour, I suppose, but I keep imagining I can hear the water crashing onto the sand all those miles away on the coast. I can...I can barely come to grips that you’re less than a county away, finally. That I saw you before the sun went down yesterday, held you — but I’ve slept badly. One thing after another shown to me no different than real life — like a horse that won’t be broken it kept throwin’ me. I dreamed I was standing on this quiet beach, clear water lapping up in long sheets, sky smooth an’ pale as bone. I’m walking along the foaming edge and the water boils red at my feet. I start swimming out mindlessly with little more than no air in my lungs, the smell of blood everywhere. Then right at the middle of the water I found you with your neck in tatters and eyes glass. So I’m pulling you back to land, but a short wave comes up ahead and sets to erase it. Now my body won’t let up and get tired and just drown and I’m stuck while you sink into the black water like tar. I try to stop you but you just faded into the undertow and I floated on.

All these dreams started out well enough, everyday things until something brings ye to me dead — Christ, I can barely breath at the thought of it, and something in me is rightly petrified that it’s some twisted premonition. That Weston is still on our trail somehow. I woke up half out of the bed, pistol in my hands already, seeing the shadows all coming for me. I got lucky Amanda wasn’t home tonight. 

Last time I wrote you I thought you were gone and I was in a bad way so I couldn’t explain this right: if you hadn’t come back it would have been my fault ‘cause I left so soon as I saw the opportunity. I was worried out of my wits for my family, but it don’t change the fact that I left you when I shoulda stayed and fought. When I should have come to find you. When I needed to stand by you. Amanda and the kids would have made it fine without me, and be it that you were dead or alive I would have been one in the same alongside you. _Should_ have been, damnin’ all the rest to hell.

Yesterday when you came I had my head down seein’ to cropping the branches, my eyes blurry with sun when I heard you hollerin’ my name like a madman, four rows of orange groves over. You know, I looked over toward you for the longest minute while you kept searching? I looked at your weathered face and realised I hadn’t believed your letter had been real. _Trevor?_ I thought, _alive?_

You against that blazing green, with anger enough on your face to kill on sight. I nearly fell of that fuckin’ ladder tryin’ to get to you. Fuck, Trev, but you look tired, haggard as all hell and I could hardly recognise you for a second. I wish the orchard had been empty, because I would have kissed you, dug my hands into your chest so I could set it in stone that you were with me.

I’ll ride up and meet you in town next week, tell me where. We’ll take the ranges maybe, or scout the neighbourin’ counties. Something. Anything. I need you.

Until then, write me back won’t you?

Your’s,  
Michael

 

* * *

Michael Darlin',

I wasn’t quite sure why you was so dead set on this San Andrea’s dream all these years. You sounded just about as wild as you did talkin’ ‘bout banks to stick up or men to rob. You’ve always been a dreamer, I suppose I just thought this was another one of those sugary sweet ideas you had in your mind that wouldn’t half work out how we planned. I ain’t never minded none of what we done, so long as I had a gun in one hand, and you in the other, that was fine by me. But damn, I was wrong about this place. I don’t rightly care for the folk, they all of that Vaudeville circuit and act so high and mighty as if they don’t know that they’re walkin’ on graves. But when I saw you in that orchard, Lord, everything changed. The stench of citrus hung high in the air, men buried between the leaves of the mighty trees pickin’ oranges. I thought to myself I’d have to shake all of those damn ladders, hopin’ I’d find you. But then I saw you, clear as day, smile wide on your cheeks as you ran at me faster than I ever seen a man run. I would’ve kissed you there, took the breath right out of your goddamn body and kept it as a memento for years to come. But I saw the other men, takin’ their hats off lookin’ at us with curious looks. I remembered then who we were, what you and me looks like to other folk. I don’t carry a lick of shame, Michael. I’d proclaim my love fer you before a congregation, carve yer name into my arm and maybe in another world I’d even call you my husband like Amanda does. But then I remember where we are, what kinda world we live in, an’ I’m thankful just fer what little we got.

I wish I could hold you through those dreams, Michael. All these months, all these years, dreams plagued me when I was without you. In the kindest nightmares, I only saw your body limp strung along a tree, my crimes nailed to your chest. I’d try to grab your body like a boy reaches for an apple on a tree. But I could never reach you, your quiet eyes without that fire inside you, the tears that trickled out when they hung you for dead. In the worst ones, you was dead before me again. Only I was holdin’ a knife, your blood all over me. I tried to stir you, wake you even though I knew you was dead before me. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, pray to the lord for some forgiveness that he let me love you without all of this pain. But maybe that’s just how it’s meant to be with us. Fear will always be apart of us, M, but we got one another now. So let’s promise never to let go, not ever again. 

I didn’t bother comin’ fer Weston when I made my way west. I read how the De Santa farm burned and took down a handful of his land and figured that was enough for now. But that man held a gun to your head and forced you to work. He forced you to risk your skin, your family’s life, and expected you to be a damn mule, grateful just to be alive. If you say the word Michael, I’d ride with you back east to North Yankton. We could bring oil drums with us, dump ‘em ‘round that fuckin’ estate he squats in and burn it to the ground. We could force him to his knees an’ force him to beg fer life, or we could bury him while his heart was still beatin’ under the ashes of his home. But I will listen to you all the same if you say _‘That’s enough’._ I’ll sit up each night with my shotgun, ready to kill if that man ever come near us or your kin again. We’re here, M, in our San Andrean dream. Maybe it’s still too new to be what we want it to be just yet, but we’re in the holy land. And god help the man who tries to pry you from my arms again.

I went an’ saw about some empty plots of land, figure I ain’t never gonna get back to Wolve’s Creek again or see Josiah’s Rest in this lifetime. But I also think, Michael, we ain’t never gonna be able to be like a man and a woman. We can’t stand before God and all of his children and be like I wish we could, but we could have our own place, when Tracey and Jimmy’s grown we could have it all. I could build us a cozy little cabin in this land of never ending sunshine and we’d have however many rooms you wanted, plant hundreds of thousands of trees an’ run our own orchard just like you wanted. Trevor Philips and Michael Townley died in Ludendorff the day we was torn apart, they live in Josiah’s Rest now. We ain’t those men anymore, M, we aint bound by shackles like they was. We got a chance now, a chance to be free. 

I’m stayin’ at the Rockford Inn til you come an’ find me. Good thing about this city is it’s so damn big, nobody turns an eye to nothin’. Saw two women sittin on their laps the other night, you believe that? I know you ain’t big on those public displays of affection, but damn if this ain’t a place to be. When you come on out here, maybe we can go see about those lands I’d been scouting for a place to purchase. I figure the nicest one is this plot in the Tongva Hills, fifteen acres only about half hour away on horseback into town.

Lord, look at what you done to me. Turned a sinner like me into a lovesick fool thinkin’ up dreams as wild as yours. It feels like all this time we been sleepwalkin’ through this life, M. And now we’re finally awake, and we can do anything.

I’ll be waitin’ fer you when you come ‘round Los Santos with bated breath. Kiss me sweety when we meet again, sugar. I need every bit of softness I can carry. Until then, as always, I am yours faithfully. 

Lovingly,  
Trevor Winters

 

* * *

Trevor,

I didn’t mean to leave it like we did, but I got my reasons for what I said. See, when I came into the saloon of the Inn I cast my eye for you, and found you sitting at the end of that bar arguing for the hell of it. There was a pale, sallow light comin’ in from that old cracked window above you and you were moving your hands like a madman, makin’ the dust fly and fog that stale air… you know you still move like you did when I first met you? Same quick assurance, same cocky lean back like yer some prairie cat on a hunt when your listenin’. I stood dead with the door swingin’ back in on me and the blaze of the sun on my back. I’d had another dream the night before, fire this time. Fire like I saw in badlands few years ago and you were screaming and — well, the details don’t matter, and I can’t bare to part with ‘em now, but hand to my chest, outside that Inn I promised to myself I’d die sooner than let you any closer than a five county lines to the badlands. Still, I couldn’t let the thought go, all through that first drink I shared and then your shaky as hell excuse to get me back in your room, _got a saddle upstairs I need your appraisal on_ , serious look on your face but that hellfire in your eye. You’re a fuckin’ rodeo, T. By the way I realised you were planning to spring the sunset over Tongva Valley on me when you started suggesting we move off while we had light, you ain’t never been one to leave bed unless it leads to dollars, undiscovered country or another bed.

In the vale, under that spread of western stars as many as leaves of grass on the the ground, and the saplings hissing I damn near stopped breathing. I still can’t imagine that we could take it all — hills steeped high enough one side to look in the abyss of the pacific and the stubborn jaws of the Chiliad digging into the north. Something so beautiful for godless men like ourselves? But I took it all in best as I could. Nonetheless half of me had my hand on my holster: every wolves’ howl and distant sound made me think of torches and men coming up from the gully. Coming for us. You know so well as me Weston’s reach goes as far as tracks go east and west and every other direction on God’s green earth. He's got eyes and ears as many oranges in that fuckin’ orchard. I kept you close to my chest, hand on your side to feel your breath come in out like waves. Trevor, I can’t risk you goin’ to fight Weston alone, I can’t give in to let you go at all. I know you were fixin’ to go, but you weren’t there when he had the gun to my head, Haines and Weston talking about how it was _the sensible_ thing that you were dead after all. If he didn’t have it in for you before I don’t imagine he holds you much favour now.

Don’t take all this to mean I take back what I said — let me and Lester pick some good men to go after Weston instead of you and me, or you on your lonesome. I’d be back in a month at most, smart, quick and clean operation. I’ve had my rest and you’re tired as they come, damn near broke me to count all your ribs when I touched you, old scars like trails into town across your chest. You been to hell and back enough already. While I’m gone you could set up the orchard and this estate of a cottage you’ve been dreamin’ up. I swear when that last train comes in from the Palomino Highlands at the beginning of winter we’d be set once and for all. I still have that damn temper on me and I know I said you’d fuck up the job like you did back with the McDuff brothers, but I meant to say all the things I’ve written just now _._ I got this terror in me that you’ll set off again without a word on this crusade and leave me in the dark.  Trevor, I’m out of bluffs, I’m out of chips, I got no hands to lose now. Least of all you. Don’t force me to place bets on this. Or if you’re gonna stay stubborn as a mule and force your will, then convince me it’s ride or die for us _both_. If you’ve skipped town I might rightly lose my mind and set off down the road like a hobo. Write me back, T.

Any case, I got a long week coming, but to hell with Sunday Service - neither of us are gettin’ into heaven by a long shot so why not make the most of it? I’ll get in my best for you and you can see about gettin’ me out of it.

Your’s Earnestly,  
Michael

P.S. Between us hollerin’ at each other and you hightailin’ it out of there, you left your kerchief in my pocket. I’d return it, but I’m thinkin’ of keeping it on account of I don’t even have a single thing by you yet.

 

* * *

My Michael,

I do believe that in some way, somehow, one day, maybe Miss Amanda Clark will count me a friend. Til’ now I must say that the way she goes and looks at me just makes me laugh myself silly. When I came upon your door sunday last in my best clothes, which you know was in tatters on account of I took ‘em off a dead man years ago, she just sighed. Doubted she’d invite me in fer tea, but wasn’t expecting her to say _“Learn to lie better, Trevor”._ God I love that woman, think she would’ve fallen fer me if I wandered into her Debut instead of you? I like to think so. I am irresistible, ain’t I? Regardless, I ain’t blame her fer bein’ as tired of seein’ me come to steal her husband away again, but I ain’t regret nothing, least of all makin’ you yell the lords name on his holy day along the treelines. Oh Michael, my god, I’m really a fool aint I? Just writin’ now about that lazy sunday afternoon I saw you red faced above me, kisses along my neck. All I want is you, every second of every-day, and now that I got you I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I figure since we seen that lot, an’ both marked it last Sunday I think it’d make a lovely little place fer us, don’t you? The Clarke Winters Orchard, we could have fields of oranges, apples, whatever the hell your heart wants. I’d even brew you some of that cider I made you that one winter when we was young an’ we fell asleep next to the fire sharing sloppy kisses tastin’ like sweet apples. I could build us a house, one where I could hold you every night. I can’t swear away those dreams, M, but lord know I’d be there to kiss the tears away when you awake to let you know I ain’t goin’ nowhere. 

But Weston is a problem. I feel those eyes now, but I can’t place where, and outright I feel like it’ll drive me mad eventually. That man is a snake in the tall grass, an’ if we don’t go and stomp him out soon he’ll nip us again for good. I feel happy here, fer the first time in my whole goddamn life I feel _content,_ Michael. But I can’t feel safe, I can’t so easily let you go when the sun rises and you gotta get back to yer family when there’s a chance one of his men will be waitin’ fer you with a loaded gun. I’d happily walk through hell fire fer you, Mike. I’d stare the devil in the eyes and spit in his face if it meant protectin’ all of us. But that road ain’t one way, it goes both ways. You can’t go and leave me alone again. I won’t be happy to sit on that fuckin’ lot buildin’ our house wondering if it’ll just be empty come winter time when I get you in a box under my tree. I won’t tolerate it, I won’t let it happen. We gotta deal with that man if we ever wanna be free out here in our Los Santos dream. He’s poison in the well, termites eatin’ at the frame of our home, fleas on our mustangs. I want you this spring, M, I want us to have one fuckin’ peaceful spring where its just you, me, and the sunshine. Come summer, lets get back to that fuckin’ cursed place and finish the job right — _together._

Sometimes I get so sick with worry over losin’ you, I can hardly breathe. You said nightmares of losin’ me plague you, then you gotta know, Sugar, they plague me too. I been trying to explain what happened that day we met to myself all these years. Trying to understand why it was in a split second I went from Trevor Philips the kid with nothin’ and nobody, to the outlaw Trevor Philips with a bounty so high it could set a man and his children’s children up fer life. But at the base of everything, its always been you, Sugar. I don’t know why it was that when you tore those barn doors open and collapsed in my arms, out of breath with a fresh cut on your forehead something took me over. I didn’t even know your name, hell, I didn’t even know what a pretty boy like you was doin’ on such an ugly world like this. But in you I saw something I can’t explain, and ever since that day I can’t not see it. I felt like I was alive for the first time in my life meetin’ you. Fer a long time I thought it was just because I ain't needed no excuses to be what I wanted ‘round you and the other folk. I thought the feelin’ I felt that first day was the same I felt stickin’ up a bank or robbin’ trains. But it wasn’t that, lord, it wasn’t none of that. I love this life, Sugar. It aint a game to me, it never was. But I’d give it all up just fer a chance to have you forever. Because it’s never been about the cash, never been about the bodies we left behind or our names on every Sheriff’s mind from here to Tennessee. It’s been about you, it’s been about us, and I’d even turn myself in right this second if you asked me to. Maybe it was fate that we met when we did, M. But I wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in the fuckin’ world. Maybe someday there’ll be two boys like us, and they’ll be as sick in love as we is and the world won’t try to tear them apart.

Sorry to say this, Michael, but I’m ‘fraid you’re stuck with me. Til the oceans dry up, the sun falls out of the sky, and horses talk, you’re stuck with me. I’ll always be waitin’ fer you, waitin’ fer you to come back to me. Be it waitin’ fer you to wake up from a sickness, or waitin’ fer you to meet me just down the road I’ll always be there. Let’s agree to live as long as we can, watch our hair turn grey an’ our faces get uglier. Let’s dance through what time we got left Sugar, and damn anyone who tries to stop us.

Auction for the land is later this week. I got all of Bradley’s cash, may as well put it to good use. Afterwards, I’ll always be near, I swears it. If you’d like, I’d be happy to walk along the trail with you to that orchard you gotten stuck workin’ at every morn til we got a place of our own. I’ll turn my hat and kiss you away from those pryin’ eyes, but you may have to beat me off with a stick because I don’t quite know how to ever stop lovin’ you, sugar.

Write me soon you goddamn fool,

Love always,  
Trevor 

P.S. Keep the kerchief, I been stealin’ yer underwear fer years. We’ll call it even now, sugar.

 

* * *

 

Trevor,

I know you’re probably surprised as all hell to find this letter somewhere there ain’t usually mail left, but it’s a damn sight better than the postal route. I’m in the mind that if Weston’s got eyes and hands down here he’ll be likely to interfere with our written word first and foremost. If we’re speakin’ our plans then we ain’t any better off. So don’t make no mention of that son of a bitch’s name in person, but I think if we leave our paper trail in each other’s pockets then we’ll be safe enough. Lester with all his paranoia would probably approve. In any case I’ve been scheming, long days on that orchard ought to drive any man crazy so I’ve set my mind to good use while I go about the inanity of it.

The way I see it we got three targets, two moving and one static — Weston and his gang,  Marshal Haines, and all the land they’ve set to acquire between them in the Badlands. It’s that kind of scale that made me think we’d need more men, but you know so well as I do that the more people get in the more complicated it’s bound to be. Besides men expect cash, especially if they know their heads from the asses and we ain’t set up with those kinds of funds, especially with our the Bank of Lester Crest being out of reach. It’s you me, two horses and all the fire we can carry — no different from when we were kids. We gotta keep our wits and keep mind that we don’t got all the time in world, and just one chance.

Now, I’ve been setting about some of the quarries on the way home most days, skirtin’ ‘em, sometimes bein’ held up on the trail on account of a scheduled explosions. I reckon that’s what we need, ten, maybe twenty sticks, and extra spools of electrical cable. That’s how I set the farm ablaze and that’s our way to make his farmland one with charred soil. As for Weston an’ Haines I think it’s best we catch ‘em with their pants down, maybe a business meeting of sorts, or a ball when they’ve got their guard down. The way I figure, the men they post on look-out would be sitting ducks — bitter as all hell about their own lackin’ parts, Weston and Haines will be liquored up, and the rest of the crowd will be rightly in no mind for a fight. Chaos is our best bet. We’ll lay out the delay fuses to ruck up fire from every side of the estate. In the mayhem we can take Haines and Weston head on, in that mess of bodies they won’t be hard to grab. That’s the rough of it — a mighty enough fire to clean out the land, and those two sons of bitches in a tight little trap with their backs against scorched walls. Only problem is we don’t got a reliable source for the explosives, but more’n that it’s difficult to carry and can be unstable as all hell. Riding with it across the scorching summer-west is a death-wish all on it’s own, one unsteady step of the ponies and we’re bound to go up like a side of cattle on a spit and come down in slivers. I thought your talents might suit this hitch in the plans, you know I’ve never been the most resourceful of men and you on the other hand could and have drawn water out of the desert. What was it you said once? _Michael, you’d have a man just to carry yer pistol on a gold platter if ye could_. You know I was sore at you for that, but I think the years have proved it well enough. And I’ve reluctantly accepted. You’ve also never picked a wrong pistol or shot-gun neither so I’d trust you’ve already got an arsenal set. I do put my boot down when it comes to rifles though, I’m a crack shot and I intend to make mean practice of Weston if I can help it.

If I’ve counted right then today’s the day of the auction and by the time you read this then the decision’s well final. You know my mind on it already and this plot — be it in Tongva Valley, Pacific Bluffs or anywhere else in this world — is all I’ve set my mind to for a while now. Somewhere bigger’n we know what to do with, full of light and a hulking fireplace, long porch and undisturbed green for miles. You know if we can take Weston’s bonds then we’ll more’n likely be set for life, no need to keep that workin’ orchard unless we’ve got heart to. I know you said you hate San Andreas by a damn sight for its people and their ways, but out here it’s big enough that we can take out plot and keep it well. We could even work some trails on the side like old times, or make trips out east and connect with Lester. Maybe take some banks while we’re at it, cargo too — you know I’m still fixin’ to get an outlaw ballad penned after me and don’t have poetry enough to do it. Even then I think I’d be more likely to write it in your likes.

Any case, if I forget to tell ye I’ve been called back into the _“the light of god”_ and by the fuckin’ pastor himself. Came right to the door and went on about missin’ us at service. I damn near cocked my pistol and informed him that he was trespassing, but Amanda likes to save face and whatever you say she ain’t fond of your mug by a long shot — so she said we’d be along this coming Sunday. But I’m fixin’ to deliver this letter to ye by Friday and I hope I can make it down your way.

Tracey made out a charming picture of a man on a horse, lootin’ a bank no less — thought it fit to leave it along with this seeing as you’ve never had a half decent portrait taken. Meanwhile Jimmy drew something too. He said it’s a dog, but I ain’t sure which side of it is the right one.

Your’s Truly,  
Michael

P.S On some mornings when I see you at the orchard I get a right kick, but then I settle down and shake your hand or nod good morning like a damn fool, like I _should._ I’ve had half the other men ask me what the hell you’re up to exactly. For now I’ve said you work at a neighbouring farm and that we used to bring in outlaws for their bounty as a crew. I doubt the story will hold, and unless you’re long gone or work there legitimately I don’t see how in the hell I’m going answer one more question outside of (and I know this may seem like my first solution to things, and it is) pulling my pistol. You probably approve, but T, there are only so many times a man can play that card.

* * *

Ol' Farmer Clarke,

You’ll be happy to know that despite everythin’ that’s transpired in these past few years we are now the proud owners of eighteen acres of endless green. Ye already seen it, now we just gotta figure where the hell to put everything. But just as god is a cruel sonuvabitch, he’s a funny one too. Just four days ago over yonder came this man Ronald, thin as a twig and jumpy as all hell. Said he came to welcome me to the area, but I had him runnin’ errands for me about two seconds after I realized he ain’t one with his own mind. Man talks about his wife Loretta like she’s Mary herself. Poor old man, too often men like him get taken advantage of. He says he works in town, balancing books and whatnot. I put the notion in his head he ought be free out here, and just that little bit was enough to get him thinkin’ on it. Two days later he came back ‘round with some muffins his wife baked. Said he can’t be leavin’ his job to work with me since his ol’ ball and chain said no. Don’t matter much to me, marriages like that go up in flames quicker than oil. Til then I do believe I have found myself a friend out here. His wife invited me to dinner tonight, almost would’ve asked if you could come along too til I realized it may look a bit odd.

I told him in one of our talks that I has a pest problem. That big terrible hulkin’ beasts ravaging the area come nightfall. He put me in contact with a _“friend”_ of his who runs cargo throughout the Alamo Sea on yonder. Name is Oscar, says he can give me a good price if I’m willin’ to make the trek to Grapeseed to see it myself. Might be a business to get into out here to keep our blood pumping once we square away all of this Weston nonsense. Lord knows with your ticker we can’t afford gettin’ lazy. I do wonder how a damn accountant knows a man like Oscar, but I ain’t fixin to stir up any trouble just yet.

I don’t think either men is right for a job like we’re plannin’. I’ve seen chickens take bigger shits than Ron could, and I ain’t even laid eyes on Oscar yet. I’ll see about finding us some men, but fer now I reckon we ought catch em with their dicks out at some cotillion. We always did know how to start a party. And how rude he’d be not to invite some rowdy festive sons of bitches like us. Also, if I’m bein’ honest, I always loved the sight of a man all dolled up on his knees for me. Now don’t you get jealous, M. Worst case, we could just sneak into Weston’s place and torch it. Ain’t as fun when it’s quiet like that, but I reckon we could roast some wieners on the flames (sausages, Michael, get your head outta the gutter).

Pastor came and spoke to me too, tried to even sit me down and have a long chat with me about how I been livin’. Says a man ought to have a woman and a few children of his own at my age. He didn’t take kindly to my joke that I’m sure it’s likely I got at least one baby ‘round this world on account of the women I left behind. He wants to fix me up with some local girls which I ain’t sore over. Afterall, who could resist these rugged good looks? But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with ‘em, just give ‘em a howdy-doo, maybe skin a squirrel with a few of them. It get’s lonely out here sometimes, but it’s better than before. Strange to think that there’s no leavin’ this place, that if all goes as well this is the end of the road. I figure we should cut off Weston n’ Haines stones and keep ‘em in a jar above our fireplace to remind us of the good ol’ days. Well, I’m fixin’ cut ‘em off anyway, so we may as well turn it to a trophy of some sort. Guess I’m still like my pa in that regard.

I miss those kids of your’s, I think Amanda been sendin’ Tracey off to school earlier and earlier to make sure I don’t see her or she keeps Baby James asleep in his crib. Ain’t no matter to me, I know I’ll see ‘em around but it still breaks my heart. It’s funny, I don’t right like children, they terrify me truly. But I think of Tracey and James as my own flesh and blood, and I’d kill anyone who so much as looked at ‘em smug. Speaking of which, you still got my knife from years ago? Tracey’ll be old enough to learn how to use it soon. James should have a gun soon as he can stand too, you know. But if he’s anything like his daddy, maybe that’s a piss poor thought because next thing we know he’ll be sharpshootin’ rabbits just to charm the pants off some poor girl who don’t know no better.

I already got my ducks in a row getting ready fer this. If this is the Big One, we better do it right, sugar. Men like Haines and Weston think they’re safe from any situation because they got guns and they got money. But they ain’t got fire, they ain’t got spunk.  

Most nights I lay out thinkin’ of the future. I ain’t never done that before. Not even when we ran together out on the road; all I hoped for back then was a clean shot and your fat ass head fast asleep on my chest. My darlin’, you piece of shit sonuvabitch, you’ve ruined me. Now alls I think about is runnin’ east towards those Badlands again. I dream of how the fire would make your hair smell, the stench if blood heavy in the air. I love the chaos with you, but the calm too. I’m dreamin’ up this house out here, how we’ll share every damn day together. I ain’t never gotta worry that you ain’t comin’ home to me. I ain’t never gotta worry ‘bout someone seein’ us. I’ll fix you the warmest cider to wake you up in the bitter cold mornings and love you right til you’re yellin’ my name so loud it spooks the wild mustangs. Fuck the law, fuck the church, fuck anybody try to pry us apart. All these years of heartbreak, ain’t we earned a little peace? 

I’ll see about those munitions, Ronald, and Oscar. Til then i’m writin’ you a damn ballad you self-absorbed prick. And don’t you say _‘Oh Trevor you ain’t gotta fix me no poem’_ , well somebody ought to. You’re a goddamn piece of work, Sugar, I’m glad to have you. There’s a spot not far from where we walk on yer way to the farm. Let’s steal us a kiss one of these mornings, if anybody sees I’ll pluck their eyes out of their sockets. 

I love you. Never doubt that, sugar.

Faithfully yours,  
Trevor

P.S. Don’t you ever get on at me again about gettin’ married you damn fool. Far as i’m concerned, I been in an unholy fuckin’ matrimony with you fer twenty damn years. I don’t need no girl, no sons or daughters. I got you, and you’s all ever needed. That bein’ said, The Widow Henrietta over yonder has got a broken window. I told her I’d fix it fer her, says I remind her of her eldest grandson. Think she’d fall for a guy like me? I’d like to think so. Would you be cross with me if I listened to that siren’s call?

 

* * *

Trevor,

Did you have yourself a nice time at the cotillion? God, fuck…I’m in my goddamn cups and the words are slipping — what in the hell is the matter with you. Can’t you ever see things from where I am, T? You say you ain’t never told a lie in your life, but how the hell am I to believe any of your bullshit when the second I turn my mind you’re off doing whatever pleases you, and _you_ only? Huh? Take your head out of those clouds sometime and take a look from my side of the fence. But since you’re blind I’ll do you the fucking courtesy of drawin’ you the scene, so maybe it’ll sink in just how stupid a son-of-a-bitch you have to be to do as you did tonight.

Here I am standing at the door of the Merrill estate with Amanda, last of the summer sun pouring in and folk milling about talking about the orchards and the water and all the rest of their drivel. Amanda gets called away by this one man and I’m settin’ about talking to a few folks when this jackass from the orchard, Thomas, brings you up, _how’s that fella you’re friends with, Michael? The one that sees you safely to the front gate most mornings?_ He gets a round of laughs. And I’m going red round the ears and feel like steel’s been poured down my spine, trying to make it off like it ain’t a big deal no sooner’n he pipes up with, _Nancy Blake and a few other girls have set their hats for him as it happens, but his been wardin’ ‘em off like flies at the butcher’s — what’s the matter with your boy, huh? You can tell us — yer secret’s safe right here, what’d he lose his ah, equipment, to some kind of bounty-huntin’ accident?_ and he barely finishes when he gets a stiffer, curious round of laughs, I could practically see all them others gettin’ their ears pricked, listenin’ close for my answer. God, I ain’t ever been so humiliated all my fuckin’ goddamn life, not since I got clapped around by my daddy in front of the altar when I was a kid. I take a deep breath and smile like I’m surely sorry, _no, it’s worse’n all that — his got a sweetheart in Liberty City that’s jilted him on account of her daddy. His here trying to make a pretty buck so he can go back and marry her rightly. Ain’t nothin’ more painful than power comin’ between a man and his love._ That stops their laughin’, some grim nods, though Thomas is dog enough to say love don’t mean you can’t be getting biblical in the meanwhile.

I made you out like a goddamn fuckin’ cowboy hero trying to save face, like some…fuck! Fuck! You know what I see next Trevor? Can you take a bright guess? I see your smug fuckin’ face, dressed all in white an’ cream and boots shined bright enough to burn out the eye of every woman in that fuckin’ room. You walk in head held high, casting your eyes around. I’m struck speechless while you come and find us, a chorus of, _speak of the devil, huh!_ Your hand on my shoulder damn near sending me to the ground. All night you’re struttin’ around like a peacock a fuckin’ gaggle of hens followin’ you right until the dance and you’ll be forced to make some kind of move — out of all the women, Trevor! All the fuckin’ goddamn women you pick the Widow Henrietta?

There’s a chuckle and a murmur and I’m followin’ along thinking you’re makin’ a joke, tryin’ to make this lonely _bat_ feel welcomed an’ but no. No you ain’t got no mind to do _that._ No, Trevor goddamn Philips needs to woo and dance and dine this one old crone thirty or more years past his age with the stars in his eyes. Amanda’s looking at me from one side of the room, eyes just ready to drop out of her head mouthing, _what?_ Meanwhile Thomas and the other’s nudge me, _Guess Liberty City is blown — but at the rate his movin’ her around I doubt she’ll be for long and he can get to his sweetheart just in time._ And you’re on the fucking floor with twenty and then something other couples. She is twice your goddamn age, T. If you need to be with someone, I’ve told you I ain’t got no claim on you, but this is downright insanity, and a fuckin’ embarrassment. Made me look like a fuckin’ fool. More’n that — I felt like one too. The second we come through the door at home Amanda pats my arm, _plenty of Trevor’s in the sea…well actually there ain’t, but that might be for the best, sweetheart._

Fuck you Trevor, you talk till the cows come home about us on an orchard with a little cottage and all we could want for. You talk about sharing every second, but you rightly don’t give a single thought to no one else. Time and again we get torn apart and once we set to having everything lined up, you go an’ prove this thing between us ain’t nothing more than a cheap lay to you — and that’d be goddamn fine by me if you just came right out and said so instead of playin’ around. Instead of writing fuckin’ letters like landlocked soldiers. Instead of makin’ me think there is some greater truth between us that I surely spat on in favour of my family.  Social standin’ and shame and secrets fly out in the face of Trevor Philips! Why? What makes you the golden fuckin’ exception, T? And what makes _me_ so goddamn disposable that I got sit by all this and have my nose and my name dragged through the mud, or hell — _shot_ , on account o’ you?

Answer me straight and answer me once an’ for all or God help me I’ll shoot for your shadow if I see your fuckin’ face near that orchard again.

M

P.S. Look on the bright side, if ye ain’t got nothing good to say and yer lucky, her fifteen acres will be yours in a few short years.

 

* * *

 

Dear Michael you No Good Son of a Bitch Horse Fuckin' _goddamn_ Asshole,

How’s it meant to be that it dont matter if I see you or I see your words that you still slap me upside the head like this? I shoulda known your true colors would come ‘round sooner later. You say it’s about me, but it’s always about you. What a goddamn surprise we couldn’t go a year without you turnin’ ugly again.

That’s right, Michael, i’m your fuckin’ secret shame, the embarrassment of the whole fuckin’ town. I’m so damn selfish ain’t I? Selfish Trevor who gave up _everything_ to follow you out to this horse-shit place. Selfish Trevor who works himself to the fuckin’ bone all by himself tendin’ land he’s dumb enough to dream he won’t share by himself. Selfish fuckin’ Trevor who found a friend in a woman who treats him better than the man who he’s known nearly twenty years and acts like a _damn lady._ Ain’t your fuckin’ concern what I do with the Widow Henrietta, but she ain’t never done more than give me a peck on the cheek if I’m goddamn lucky. Woman’s probably the best fuckin’ friend I’ve had in years, replaced your sorry ass in a second because she don’t demand my rear like she’s entitled to it. She just asks _‘Hows your buildin’ goin’ Mr Philips? I seen it on the hills, I’m sure it’ll be lovely once its done’_ and asks if I’m fixin’ fer a cup of tea.

You say I made you look like a fool but one night, but you make me out to be one every fuckin’ day since you met Amanda. You got any idea how much it took outta me not to knock Crest out of his fuckin’ chair when he asked if I minded losin’ you how I did? And all these years since our reunion you treat me like a fuckin’ dog, no better than a tool in your shed. Need a man dead? Get Trevor. Need somethin’ built? Get Trevor. Need someone to make you feel better about your tiny boy fer the night? Get Trevor. You ain’t never given two shits about me, M. All I ever been to you is some pathetic lonely fool you could manipulate and use. And you know what’s the worst part of that? I know it, I always known. I know that you use me because you know no matter what I’m loyal to the end, but you cant even buck up and tell men to mind their business about me. But I’m the monster because I made one night hell fer you when you been makin’ my days and nights a fiery inferno fer years. So I apologize for my damn behavior at that sorry excuse for a cotillion. Sorry I didn’t know ahead of time what kinda lies you were fixin’ to tell about me so I could show up in my tatters like always. Sorry I made a lonely old woman feel loved and welcome fer the first time in years because damn if I don’t understand how she feels.

And by the way? While you’re so goddamn crossed with me I got the fuckin’ munitions. I got half a mind to go out an’ take care of Weston and Haines myself and leave you to this hellscape. That’s what you fuckin’ want, innit? I’m yer favorite fuckin’ nightmare, and I know you can’t wait fer me to die. Maybe I will one of these days, I hope it’s fuckin’ horrible. I hope I catch fire and fall to the ground screaming and crying all by my lonesome so that only the horses know what’s transpired. I hope it brings you all the shame and hurt I feel every day. But then what would you say, huh? Say you’re happy to be free of me, hell, I bet you’d go right up to God’s house and thank him. 

You dont got any fuckin’ clue how I live, Michael. I live in pain and hurt, all by myself. Say whatever the fuck you want ‘bout yer pain, but you get a family to come home to at the end of the day. You got a life fer yourself, when all I got is crime and you. You say you spit in the face of your family, but I ain’t never told you to. All these years all I write is beggin’ you to stay with them, to do right by the children you brought into your sick world.

But it’s easier to blame me. So keep on yellin’ that it’s my fault your life is in shreds. Ignore that I wasn’t the one who held a gun to your head and told you to fuck that poor girl. I didn’t tell you to be a good man and marry her. I didn’t tell you to do nothin’, I never asked for anything but scraps of your life. God damn you! How can you say those fuckin’ things to me and not even see how much pain I got over you?

Do whatever in the hell you fuckin’ want. You made it clear I made you lose face so fine. You walk yourself to that fuckin’ ranch each morning and lie about me to those men. You can tell lies about me to Tracey an’ Jimmy, the pastor and his whole congregation. And just as I have every fuckin’ day of my life with you, I’ll do my best to comply. When you’re done throwin’ your fuckin’ tantrum, I went and laid the fucking foundation on. There’s a dry spell comin’, so I’m gonna be puttin the walls up. Maybe if I die, you can use that fuckin’ house to lay with your women of the night. Afterall, poor Michael always _has_ to be the most unfortunate bastard in the room.

Who's the fool between us? It’s always been me. I hope you’re the one who pulls the fuckin’ trigger when my time comes. You been killin’ me all this time, may as well do right by me for  _once_ in your goddamn life.

By the way, if either of us is a cheap lay I don’t know who should be more insulted. Here I am on another fuckin’ plot of land building you another god damn house.

Love always,  
Trevor

P.S. You say anymore ill words about that woman and I swear on my life Michael I’ll cut your fuckin’ nose off and eat it in front of your fuckin’ eyes.

 

* * *

Trevor,

I feel…well…I ain’t so sure. I haven’t stopped thinking about what you wrote since I got your last letter. Then today — I s’pose if I get past this pride I’d tell you that I’m sorry, and that I didn’t realise it until this afternoon. Not really. 

I was going down Main Road, picking up odds and ends and errands, getting things in order for the week. Service took goddamn forever today — look, shit…I ain’t good with this sort of thing and you know it, but in any case I was just trying to get home before dark. On the edge of the municipal building and the general store across the ways I saw Thomas and a few of his pals. I dropped my hat so they’d leave me well alone…christ, I wanted to pen you a letter with choice terms all over again when I saw them scope me. There was this look in their eyes that says I’m a fraud in all the ways that seem to matter to anyone. He calls me over, a round of handshakes and niceties, their pipes smoking away seeing as they’re just whiling away the afternoon. One of the other men grins my way after the small talk dies, _what’s with the rodeo your friend’s got with the Widow Henrietta, Clark?_  

I was ready, Trevor — before I had myself checked I had a lie all lined up, pretty and wrapped in a bow that’d leave me out of it. Like it was predestined. But you know, ten years ago I would have spent a bullet on each of those men without a second thought and the fact is, that before I had a handle on things I just…it all went to hell in a basket is the best expression. I saw red, is the other — I remembered what you’d said. And maybe I have become some kind of counterfeit copy after all these years...in the ways that matter to me. To you. I couldn’t stand what a part of me has become, and what it’s made of you…

I lunged for the man who’d last talked, took him right into the dust with me and had my knuckles skinned for my troubles in all of a second. The others pulled me off and we had it out. Seems no one’s got fire enough to kill on a Sunday or I may not be writing this now. Then again I’ve always been an undeservingly lucky son of a bitch. I came home worse for wear, but it’s the best I’ve felt since that night. It felt _right_ , maybe, is the word I’m looking for.

Look, I ain’t writing this to make any point other than that I know we ain’t partners no more, but I should’ve had your back, T. I remember on the road when we’d raise hell if some traveller said a cross word to either one of us, and somewhere along the way that got kicked out of me. All this compliance to town-life and a family — not that I haven’t always been a turd, but I’m just a bigger turd now and it ain’t anyone’s fault but me. 

I don’t expect anything from you after the things I last wrote you, and it probably helps none that I was in my cups and barely have any memory of it — fuck, I’m ruinin' this apology letter aren’t I? And babbling.

Point is I love you. To hell and back, right into my grave. I do. Fuck, I don’t act like it, Trevor. I know. I don’t say it, or write it often…it’s like someone went and snapped that part of me that could, before I met you and then again when we went our separate ways. But when I’m with you it’s easier, this business of living and the minute we set on separate trails a hollow opens up and makes like nothing else matters. It takes all the air and light and colour and lays a thick film of snow, buries me alive. I die for you, often. Constantly. And I can’t help it none. You say you got the scraps of me, but you’ve always had everything whether I like it or not.

Do what you will, Trevor. But don’t forget this.

Your Michael

 

* * *

Michael Mine,

I written this too many times now to count, each time I threw it to the fire. I can’t get the words out right, hands are shakin’ like a leaf and my knuckles hurt like a bitch. Suppose I should get the business out of the way first, since that’s what’s most important no matter how we feelin’ ‘bout each other. 

Got another man workin’ fer me now, you remember when I told you ‘bout Wade all those years ago? His cousin works the shipyard in Los Santos but he’s tryin’ to pin down a place for himself in the Tongva hills so he can marry some girl Debra. I told ‘im I knew his cousin who he didn’t even know went and got himself killed. Immediately he’s stumblin’ over his words, _Debra_ this and _Cousin Wade_ that. I get him to shut up when I ask him if he wanna do right by his dearly departed cousin by helpin’ the man who did his best keepin’ him alive. Long story short, boy is workin’ fer me now, even got Ronald to agree to let ‘im sleep in his home when he comes out here to work. Ronald’s a good man, you ain’t met him yet but I think you’d hate him, Michael. But I do enjoy his company, nice to have someone so loyal ‘round who do whatever you say. I wonder if that’s how you feel about me?

Anyway, I tried to stab Floyd in his sleep the other night but he gets scared out of his skin an’ it takes til sunrise to get him out of the outhouse he locked himself in. Ronald’s wife ain't got no kindness towards me, what do women folk got against me? Anyway, Floyd ain’t one fer a fight, so we’re still on our own but he could do other things.

Now, well, Thomas is dead. Let's start there.

I didn’t mean to kill the damn idiot, it’s his own damn fault he ended up where he did. The man is a despicable sorry excuse fer human life. I don’t know why we let ‘im get under our skin like we did, he’s  — was vermin, Michael. 

I assumed he came ridin’ in right after you beat him in town since his eye was turnin’ red an’ the skin angry as all hell. I invite him in fer a drink, I’m tryin’ to be neighborly, but he starts askin’ ‘bout that fake girl I got in Liberty City. Well I’m already smellin’ iron, my vision goin’ blurry and dark as I’m pourin the whiskey. I just laugh, say _I ain’t got no girl_ , that you was easily mistaken. I lost my mind, M, but I aint never let no man come to hurt you. I tell him next that I ain’t got no fuckin’ interest in no women folk unless it’s fer a night, and that’s all that there is to that. So he asks me, _“Is Michael the same?”._ I nearly broke my goddamn neck turnin’ round to see that smug fucker smilin’ like he just asked me the sweetest question on this earth. I didn’t merit him a response, just sat down at the table and drank both glasses of whiskey. Stared at him a long time before he said, _“I got a daughter, bout to be of marryin’ age. Maybe you ought to come out to see her, Winters. You know how people talk when men spend too much time with each other”._ I tell him I ain’t got no fuckin’ interest in children, and he ought to shut his fuckin’ mouth before it get him in trouble. But he starts laughin’ in a way that makes my skin crawl and my breath stop, he says _“She aint no girl anymore, I made sure of that a long time ago”._

After that it all went red as it does. I didn’t kill him in our house, I did knock him out and drag him across the county line and kill him there. I don’t remember what he was yellin’ when I started beatin’ him til his skull cracked open. I don’t remember where I buried him, but I threw up in the stream when it was done and over with.

Sheriff Norton came by the day after to ask if I’d seen him. I told him I aint seen hide nor hair of him since the cotillion since I aint been into town ‘cept for lumber. That Sheriff is a strange one, I don’t think he’ll be any trouble to us. He sits down and says, _“It keeps gettin’ worse, each year. More people goin’ crazy the more come out here”._ I say _yessir_ and pour him a drink, I’m too tired to fight him or scare him away. _“Thomas wasn’t a good man, but if somethin’ happened, lord...I hate tellin’ the wives”_ I say _yessir_ and put the cups on the table. _“You ever seen a dead man?”_ I say _yessir_ and sit down. He asks where, I say out east, when my pappy died I saw him hung when I was a boy. I left out that somebody else was hung with him too, figured Julien would get me more sympathy. He nods, says _“I’m sorry, son. Aint easy fer a boy to lose a father”._ I tell him he wasn’t much to lose, but he says he hopes I made peace somehow. I don’t know what that meant so I left it alone and we drank in the quiet. He left soon after, thanked me fer the whiskey and went on his way. He’s got a limp. Aint got nothin’ to add other than that the lawman ‘round here got a limp.

When I was in town yesterday fer some goods, I ran into him again. He tells me he still ain’t seen Thomas, said he went out to talk to you after me but couldn’t figure what happened. _“Clark ain’t a man fer violence, not from what I seen. But Thomas was full of nasty words. You was close with Clark, weren’t you, Winters? You think he’s a bad man?”_ I tell him no sir. I tell him about how the only immoral act you ever done committed was layin’ with a woman before marriage; but you put away any boyhood dream to do right and marry her. Told him about how you’re one of the kindest men I ever done met, even if you’re stubborn as all hell, and you know what? It wasn’t a lie. I told him ‘bout the times we almost died on the road, how you could’ve left me to die but you was a true friend and ain’t never left me. I told ‘im how I ain’t the easiest man to call a friend, but you keep me on the right path best you can. I told him how I’m a man plagued by rumors, but you don’t let it bother you none. Sheriff smiles, says _“Sounds like he’s a good friend”,_

I say, _“The best”._

God I love you, Michael Townley. You’re the bane of my fuckin’ existence but you’re also why I even stay on this earth. I love you, day in and day out, no matter how badly we wrong one another I will always love you. Nobody’s gonna know ‘bout Thomas, maybe his cronies will put two an’ two together but they’re about as dumb as a barrel of stones from what I seen. If need be, I’ll kill ‘em too, whatever needs to happen I’ll make it happen. We’ve come too far to fuck it up again, M, this is the end of the road. And I’ll be damned if any man or beast tries to pry us apart.

I been thinkin’ on what you said, I think we both said things we ain’t mean or said it without thinkin’. You give me hell, but that don’t mean I don’t love you all the same. You drive me fuckin’ crazy, but I wouldn’t choose to have fallen in with anybody else. I hate bein’ mad at you so much as I am now, because as angry as I am, I still love you so much it hurts. I miss you like mad, I stay up watchin’ the stars wonderin’ if you’re lookin’ at ‘em too. We can’t be like children no more, M, we gots to be men. Come and visit me, I won’t dare cross that line with you. I ain’t gonna pretend things is fine with us when you decide to show yer face. But I figure we ought to have it out like a real pair of folks should. I love you too much to lose you, especially like this. 

Come to me, sugar. I’ll be waitin. 

Always,  
Trevor

P.S. I ain’t never been comfortable ‘round men of the law, maybe you ought to be the one to befriend the Sheriff. If ye worried too much of your pretty head over Thomas, ye can burn this letter too. But I swear, if I can’t remember where I hid his body, ain’t nobody gonna find it.

 

* * *

Trevor,

You’re right, I hate Ronald. Nervous thing ain’t he? Well, that bein’ said I don’t reckon he’s a bad man…just could keep some of his thoughts to himself once in awhile. Hadn’t known him ten minutes before he was gettin’ in my face about Ludendorff and the cotillion like he knew a damn thing. All the same I’m glad you got someone to watch yer back and help around the land. Still, last time you asked if I feel about you the same way you feel about Ronald, _someone so loyal who do whatever you say_ , wasn’t it? Well, sorry to say if you feel half as much about him as I do you, then I’ll have to kill him before the month is up. Trevor, you seem to knock your damn head every week and forget what I said to you the week before. I’d ride through hell for you, and kill for you just as easy as I’d die.

Now with that put to rest, I think our time with Weston’s damn close if it ain’t already passed. Just yesterday I was on my way back from the orchard when I saw this man follow me all the way home, dark hat drawn over his face, riding a beast of a horse. I damn near pulled my pistol but he disappeared down the road from the house, and I ain’t sure if the whole thing was my mind playin’ tricks, but it rightly put me in the mind that we ain’t free of the Badlands until Weston and Haines are dead and buried.

If we’ve got the munitions now there ain’t a thing but for plannin’ it, and there’s only so much of that we can do. We just put stake into a carriage on the train east and transport it, meet it there. You know like I do that plans in outlaw work are like the lord’s prayer; comforting, but no fuckin’ use to anyone. Everything can go belly up in a minute and you’ve just got to gather your guts and jump into it with both feet. I don’t want us to go into that fire, but sometimes the only way is through. The only way to get some kind of peace that lasts longer than two seasons and a handful of days. I can’t stand it all the same, I find myself tendin’ to excuses all the time to put back the trip. But this may be it. The end of the line. 

Two days passed I went round to see the Sheriff. Sad, mopey fellow? David Norton. I bought him a couple of drinks and had some words. Seems to be this town has racked up a hell of a record in numbers and Thomas is bound to buried in the mess after all. So the law won’t come for you on that account and if it were going to I made damn sure Davey won’t bother you again. His divorced, wife jilted him for one of those classic southern men in all his pomp, white clothes and black boots. You know, it’s funny, but when he mentioned that I thought of you…for some fuckin’ reason I seem to think any man worth a damn just happens to look like you (once in awhile when you scrub up and jump in a tub of course). Any case, I sent Davie away drunk as all hell, the man can’t hold his liquor. I had to take him slung over his horse like a sack of flour. He won’t trouble us none though. Not again.

I been thinking on the house too. When I came around last week I couldn’t see how it was the same eighteen acres you’d shown me. Damn near thought it wasn’t the same stretch of land. Riding up to the hill I saw those walls, shining white slats in the bright morning, the porch laid out in redwood, pale blue frames for the windows and doors and copper knobs, your silhouette burned into the sky while you started on that roof, _howd’y cowboy_ — I swear I still smile like a damn maniac whenever I see you...but you know, Trevor, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve been listening to my ramblings all these years. You remember? I reckon you do. Us, riding far and wide and going out of our skulls with boredom sometimes. So I would start rattlin’ off an account of a house I wanted to buy with all my earnings…white walls, blue sills, copper hinges and knobs, dark roof and after we passed through the San Andreas’ redwood forest that time…well. All this, and all I can think is that it don’t make a lick of sense after all the things I’ve done — the outlaw ways, the greed, the blood on my hands, the things I put you through — there ain’t a thing in the world I deserve less than your loyalty other than your love. I know that. Since all that shit I said before I want…I _need_ you to know I’ll spend every breath until my last trying to build a home for you just the same. I’ll make sure in the evenin’ the porch gets worn with our chairs-legs rockin’ while we sit out and drink, that those walls hear you scream my name every night and the windows get sick of me telling you accounts of every last thing in this world. That the flowers all disappear into glasses on the sills and the grass gets trampled by us each day. When winter comes round and the high wind drives it away, the fireside won’t go cold for a second.

And darlin’, I’ll do it over when the spring comes back.

Your’s,  
Michael

 

* * *

Stupid Michael,

Yesterday evenin’ Floyd went and got he-self kicked in the fuckin’ gut by my horse. I don’t know what’s with married women and their hatred fer me. I take Floyd to the good doctor and set him up nice but next thing I know his woman Debra is chewin’ my damn ear off. If I hadn’t been so drunk maybe I woulda remembered what she said but I wouldn’t care to remember neither. Ronald’s wife, ye remember her? Loretta? She went to go live with her mother last time I took Ron out huntin’ with me and we came back with a whole Buck. How’s Amanda, by the way? Last time I saw her she seemed softer, barely nipped me at all.

House is just about done now, and I find myself thinkin’ strange thoughts. My head is tellin’ me not to go, that if we leave everything well alone then our demons would never find us. But my heart is yellin’ that I can’t live in that house when someone is lookin’ to get my baby killed. Most nights I barely sleep a wink, I hold my shotgun to my chest and end up pointin’ it at the dark. I have worse dreams than before, ones with fire and smoke. I see you strung up like an ornament on a christ-mas tree and the world burned beyond us. I see us gettin’ good and well at Weston’s monster of an estate, but then when I think everyone’s down I turn and you’re bleedin’ out. I wake up yellin, tears on my cheeks and my skin crawling. Nearly shot off Ron’s head when he heard me one night and came runnin to see.

But you ain’t wrong. We’re jumpin’ at shadows, afraid of our own dreams. I seen a man myself at twilight some nights just watchin’ me. But when I come at him hollerin’ he rides off before I can get a look. I know it, I know that this is the end of the line. We either die fightin, or God takes pity on two fools and lets us walk away hand in hand with Weston an’ Haine’s heads on pikes. 

It ain’t right to jinx it this way, I know. But it’s been on my mind since I finished the roof and got your letter a day ago. I been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. I loved you as Michael Townley, Michael De Santa, Michael Clark, and anything else you’d go by. The road has always been dark, it’s never been easy, but it’s been you that saved me all the same. I dream of what our lives will be if God is merciful. I’d fix you breakfast every mornin’, ride our horses til dusk, kiss you when the nightmares come so you remember it's all a dream. I remember every word you ever said to me, from the home you had in your dreams to your goddamn fifteen fuckin chickens. All I ever wanted was to make you happy, sugar. So as long as you is, then I am too. But that road, it’s gotta go both ways. I ain’t never gonna say good-bye because I ain’t never leavin’ you for the world. But if I don’t make it back, if Lucifer himself swallows me whole and I can’t make it back to you...don’t let this place go to waste. I built two extra rooms fer Tracey and James, let them live here wit’ you and Amanda too. Raise your own orchard if you’d like or just let those wildflowers you love turn all eighteen acres into a meadow. My love sweet and bad as sugar, you ain’t owe me nothin but yer love. So even if the dream we share becomes only yours, don’t let it die. Just promise me you won't go fuckin’ nobody between those walls or I swear I’ll haunt you til you’re dead yourself.

The Widow Henrietta has invited me an’ you fer tea this comin’ Friday. I know you’s got a strange vendetta against the woman, but she’s sweet as pie. I talk about you most everytime I’m in her company, so she’s demandin’ to meet you. I ain’t never told no one about us, not even with a gun to my head i’d protect you still. But I figure if you’re fixin’ to be mine forever, maybe you ought to become friends with at least the woman who makes my heart soar. I also may or may not have gone cryin’ to her before when we was exchangin’ rotten words and she worries fer me now. She’s a sweet woman, her husband is a fool fer goin’ and dyin’ of smallpox and leavin’ her alone. She wrote you an invite but I told her I could get it to you quicker. I’m leavin’ it with this letter, so don’t you be late, sugar.

By the by, I know you said not to no more, but I’d wish you’d let me walk you to the Ranch again. We’re jumpin’ at shadows, and the red I see when I lose it would never subside if somethin’ happened to you. Let me walk you again, it not fer yourself then fer my own mind. You ever think about how much we’ve calmed down? If a man went and judged me for walkin’ you anywhere I would’ve cut him up in a second. Now I just bite my tongue and kill his livestock while he sleeps.

Eternally and Graciously Yours,  
Trevor

P.S. I know it ain’t possible, but have you given any thought to what folk will call our Orchard? Winters Clark sounds nice, Clark Winters I don’t mind either. I would especially not mind if we did away with one and I got to be Mr. Trevor Clark...just a thought.

 

* * *

Dear Mister Michael Clark,

You have been cordially invited to afternoon tea at the Yates Estate at the end of Wexler Road on the second Friday of this month. Mr. Winters has told me about your affinity to blueberries, so I’ve found my mothers old cookie recipe! I hope you’re able to attend.

Sincerely,  
Henrietta M. Yates

 

* * *

 

Trevor,

You sure know how to pick ‘em, T. Ms. Henrietta is sharp as a tack…couldn’t get a single thing past her if ye tried. She damn near took me apart with all them questions on account you and the house. I know I acted like a fool, but at first she seemed to rightly think I was settin’ to steal your damn land or somethin’. By the by I think she liked me well enough by the time we had coffee and went our separate ways. And those cookies she made were sure somethin’. They were gone in a flash when I brought the leftovers home for the kids. Wouldn’t stop yammering about ‘em all night and asking Amanda if she knew the recipe. She just rolled her eyes and said, _well, I didn’t know your Uncle T’s beau was gifted like that, or I’d have asked her._ Had a good laugh at that one.

Now, I suppose the house is done, last week when I was around you were polishin’ of the deck. Nearly missed you under all ‘em grease smudges, cannot believe I ruined my kerchief wipin’ your face just so I could find yer smile and kiss you…by the way I’ve given it some more thought and — apples. Apples would take well in that soil. Strawberries and peaches nearer the lake in the cool part of the valley too if the year is willin’ and the rain is kind. Once we’re back I reckon I’d take some of the south field and make a stable on the flatter land, both our ponies are damn near ancient. On account of the name for the orchard, how ‘bout Applecross? It’s gotta a ring to it if we’re fixin’ to sell any of them apples come spring…but the house? Well the house’d be just ours — and _Winter’s Clark_ sounds about right to me if you’ll have it.   

I’ll be round shortly to see ye before we leave for good. I been thinking longer and harder about the east, all this business with Weston. Ain’t a thing that knocks around in my head more loudly — two days ago I saw our spectre of a cowboy on that dark horse again. This time he was closer than before and tailed my trail right after I left Tongva Valley for about ten miles. I turned and gave him a chase, but I lost him quickly. While I was riding through the thicket of trees on the east edge of the lake, I had this thought…this imaginin’ — gun smoke comin’ up off the hill and those white slats painted red with your blood. Your body still warm on the porch and me goddamn near enough to hear the shot and not a single thing I could do…it was a waking kind of nightmare that had me going out of my mind. I rode with the devil on my heels and came back to the house, but everything was as I’d left it. Ronald hobbled up to tell me you’d gone away on errands. Still my hands shook on the reins until I got home and fixed a stiff drink. Trevor, darlin’, it’s time. No more o’ this cowerin’ like rats, and I’m rightly sick to death of thinkin’ I can lose you any second to a stranger…a stray gunshot. Come next week Tuesday the 3rd we can take off, I’ve got a ticket for the cargo and been gatherin’ supplies we’ll need on the trail. Cans of grub, gunpowder, blankets and the rest. I’ll come to Winter’s Clark and we can ride out at dusk so we have the cover of night.

Now I also I figure I need to be ready for anythin' and I went into town yesterday to see a lawyer, the type for drawing up papers for money and land. There’s every chance I won’t come back, or maybe not in a single piece. Most things I’ve left behind for Amanda and the kids, the house, whatever’s in the bank and my pockets. But I’ve left the letters to you, my pearl pistol, and that old, silver timepiece we got away with in ’78. I know Amanda ain’t bound to stay alone for long if I don’t come back. She’ll set up a new house with a new man and that’ll be it, but if ye can be sure visit the kids once in awhile…maybe…maybe tell ‘em somethings about me so they don’t think their father was a no good highwayman who died on his knees a worthless coward. I think it’d mean something, my name coming from you. That I tried, at least. 

More to that I want this letter to carry you back west afterward — to home. I don’t want you gettin’ no mind to hang back and die by me when it rightly ain’t your time. Take care of that house of our’s…Winter’s Clark, that is. And for goddamn-sake fill it with some noise an’ clatter, maybe your own family. I know you ain’t the type, but Trevor, there would be no foul in moving past a dead man’s memories. This is grim talk, but last thing is I want you to bring me back, or my ashes, if I don’t make it. The ground is dry and hard and lonely out in the badlands and I think I’d rest easier somewhere close to the water. Somewhere on those acres where wildflowers will take away the headstone in a year or so.

But all that’s just another outcome. Somethin’ to prepare for, maybe. More’n all that, for goddamn sake don’t forget me for yerself. Wear my hat out of the badlands and focus on that first time we saw the horizon flatten on the pacific.

Your’s,  
Michael

P.S. Not many days now on that orchard, but come walk with me all the same. The rest of it be damned to hell.

* * *

To the Miss Amanda Clark,

My darling sweet as pumpkin pie, I write to you by my bed near the window. I watch the blossoms fall from the trees, flowers blooming under way. It's always a sight come spring time, but it barely holds a flame to your beauty.

I been a damn fool, and I know it. I swore to you, how many years ago now? That you’d never be without a friend in this world, never without a hand to hold. All these years I’ve tried to be the best way I could be for your sake, you deserve something better than I am. I’m an idiot, plain and simple. I know you always tell me...tell me not to worry a hair on my head about Michael. But that man, of all the men the lord would put in your path I could never understand why he’d been so lucky. What few times I’ve spoken to the man, he acts as if I’m some lawman come to take him to prison. And maybe so, but I’d never send a father to the courthouse, no matter how much he deserves it. All I ever wanted was the dream of loving you right, Miss Amanda. Give you this house I live in by my lonesome, help raise Tracey and Jimmy as I love them as my own flesh and blood, but I let greed blind me, I let it make a fool out of me. 

These past few weeks, well, I would follow your husband from the time before dawn to the late twilight hours. I remembered what my daddy taught me about hunting and kept my distance. All I wanted to do was catch him, darling. You’ve always told me you ain’t pay no mind to where he’s gone off to, but I thought if I paid a mind then so would the state. Divorce isn’t easy ‘round these parts, and I know you always telling me _‘Ring ain't gonna change nothing, Paul but give us an additional burden’._ But damn it if a man can’t dream of it.

No matter now. Here in this letter is my confession: I did catch Michael doing that’d give us a bit of grace in the court. But darling, I couldn’t do wrong to that man if I tried, hand on the bible and pistol to my head, I can’t. Not with what I learned these past two nights. I thought perhaps at first he was laying with a lady out in the Tongva hills since he spent so much time out there. But I ain’t got the gumption to go up to that door myself and see her with my two eyes. Not until three days ago, when Michael left I found my courage and walked up to that cottage. I was expectin’ some silly young thing who had fallen prey to your husband’s charms...but I found...a man.

He was a tall fellow, the one from the Cotillion those months ago, the one dressed to the nines who danced with the Widow Henrietta? Well he’s looking at me as if I’d just razed his lands and stolen his wife. I look down and he’s got a gun, but rather than shoot me he hits me over the head and sends me into a sleeping spell. When I come to, I’m tied to a chair, Michael standing on one end of the room, and the other man shaking like a leaf on the other. 

Michael. Michael takes a long look at me, then takes off his hat and runs his hand along his face. _‘Trevor this is why the lord taketh...this is why the lord fuckin’ taketh’._ They fix to bickering, but they ain’t...ain’t like men I know. They’re holding each other and before long the other fellow has his head resting on Michael’s shoulder and says, _‘I cant lose you’._ I can’t rightly explain what was happening in that room, Amanda. Not in all my years did I see the compassion between men that I saw between them. It’s why we can’t tell nobody about this, and if you do darling I’ll stand by you, but I don’t know that I could ever look at you the same. All I ever wanted was you, but I think...I think they want just the same from each other, and if we leave well enough alone we can all prosper in this land. Doesn’t each man got a right to his heart?

Michael got the taller man calm enough that he handed over his gun and patted me on the back. Michael asks calmly, _‘What are you fixing to do here?’,_ and immediately I tell him who I was, and...well, how I’d sooner imagine the pits of hell before I imagine a life without you. At first he laughs, then he just gets this forlorn look on his face. He tells me him and the tall fellow have a job they were going to do, and he wasn’t sure if he’d return. _‘If you’d treat Amanda better than I ever could, raise my children as your own, that’d be fine by me. If I do come back, you can have her all the same. But treat her wrong, and I’ll snap your neck’._

No matter what happens to him, he says we got his blessing. I swear I’ll never force you into something that’d make you miserable, and lord knows I’d do somethin’ better than say it in a letter. But I do believe we don’t have much to worry about my love. Trevor? The tall one, Michael says you know him. He went and broke my damn leg when he knocked me out somehow, and I won’t forgive that. But I do hope it means you’ll come visit me and kiss me to make it all better.

Sincerely,  
Calvin Paul

 

* * *

**The Last Will and Testament**   
**of Trevor Philips**

I, Trevor Julien Winters, of Tongva, in the county of Blaine County, in the state of San Andreas being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me. 

**Disposition of Property**

I devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and wherever situated as follows: 

Ronald Jakowski of Tongva Valley as my business associate and friend with the following property:

  * Any and all business dealings discarded by Michael Clark
  * My bible which I’d prefer he only discard if only absolutely necessary and that he read the back cover immediately upon my death.



Michael Clark of Great Chaparral as my longtime friend, and companion with the following property:

  * The Cottage of Winters Clark as well as the eighteen acres owned by myself in the Tongva Hills. Must be named Applecross, and the name _Winters Clark_ must remain on the cottage unless destroyed by natural forces of time or nature. I would prefer that the beneficiary take up resident in the cottage in the event of my demise.
  * A chesnut box containing 245 letters and miscellaneous documents not meant to be reviewed by any other party under any circumstance.
  * All personal clothing and property found in the Winters Clark cottage.
  * The stallion _Butterscotch_ whom shall not be put down unless absolutely necessary or can no longer be cared for by the beneficiary.
  * My copper tipped shotgun that will likely be found on myself in the event of my death with the carving _‘BETSY’_ on the underside.
  * ⅓ of my monetary worth and any financial effects.
  * A letter penned by my own hand on this day in 1901 only to be delivered upon my death by either Ronald Jakowski or a related party.



Tracey Clark of Great Chaparral as my goddaughter with the following property:

  * ⅓ of my monetary worth shall be bequeathed to her on the day of her 18th birthday.
  * A silver locket with her father’s hair inside that will likely be found on myself in the event of my death. I would prefer that if she does not wish for this effect she hand it over to either her father or her brother. The hair is to not be removed.



James Clark of Great Chaparral as my godson with the following property:

  * ⅓ of my monetary worth shall be bequeathed to him on the day of his 18th birthday.
  * My mother’s wedding ring that shall likely be found on myself in the event of my death. I would prefer that if he does not wish for this effect he hand it over to either his father or his sister.



LETTER TO MICHAEL CLARK TO BE DELIVERED IN THE EVENT OF THE DEMISE OF TREVOR JULIEN WINTER

M,

I hope this letter has found you well. It is my hope that you’re reading this as an old man, hands shaky and eyes tired. But I’m writing this now on the eve of our final excursion to Weston’s Estate out in the badlands, fearful that I may just be too chicken say what I need when the time comes.

Michael, thorn in my side, love of my life, I don’t ever entertain what my life would’ve been without you. I never knew love until I set my eyes on you, til you kissed me under that sycamore tree years ago and made love to me on the sweet grass along that lake that seemed to only exist for us two. Fer so many years those memories were all that kept me sane. The memory of your smell, the feel of your skin, the sound of your laugh. I use to think that someday it’d all fade away, that we’d grow to resent one another and there’d only be bitter silences and cruelness. But god, if I don’t look at ye the same way I did when I was just twenty years old.

I have no regrets in this life, Michael, because everything has led me to you. We didn’t always get what we wanted, sometimes we were even in over our heads. There were a fair bit of times I know we were both rightly afraid that the sun would never come up some days, but it did. I dreamed of this life with you, one where we’d have acres of trees and wildflowers, one where I could hold you close and keep you safe. I’ll alway be afraid of losing you, my love, because you’re all I have. God could give me the heavens, but it’d pale in comparison to you.

If you’re reading this, I’m gone now. I hope Ron was the one to give it to you, and not some stuffy lawyer out in Los Santos. But I need you to promise me, you wont give up on this life because I aint there with you. You gave me all the love I could ever hope for, and I need you to keep doing just that. Raise your kin up right, live in that cottage I built in yer design, drink whiskey and be merry. Don’t let my death stop you from living, or I’ll be so cross with you from beyond the grave.

My only request is that you bury me someplace you’ll come visit. I know I’ll be dead, and maybe you ain’t as strong as you use to be when you get this, but promise me you’ll visit me? I never been more lonely than when you’re not by my side. Maybe if God has mercy, he’ll let us both into heaven. And then we can live together with endless acres of trees of emerald green, and wildflowers as far as the eye can see. And trust me then, brother, I’ll love you just as sweetly as I did in life as I will in death.

I will always love you. A million times over, and you can’t change that not for one second, sugar. 

For the final time,  
Trevor Julien Philips

I will always be yours.

 

* * *

L.C, 

Sir, I followed ‘em like you said the hot second their cargo dropped. I kept my head and made sure nobody was lookin’, I was no more’n a shadow on their tail. They came up the road dusted and tired looking that first evenin’ closer to seven as I took the watch you’d assigned on top o’ the municipal office. Your associate, one Mister T was taking the lead on their mounts comin’ up Valley Hill View, Mister M followed lookin’ more tired of the two. 

They stayed at Gable Inn, two abuttin’ rooms on the top floor and place enough fer their ponies behind the hotel at the trough. Next mornin’ they came down rickety stairs together and ate breakfast at a table near’n the window, but called each other by counterfeit names — Samuel (Mister M) and Lewis (Mister T). They got quick into shortenin’ those name, but otherwise spoke real quiet, barely whispers. Drank none, though M smoked through all breakfast. But they didn’t fix to leave the hotel until followin’ nightfall. They mounted up and rode toward the Weston Estate, keeping off beaten tracks and throwin’ me several times, so I dismounted for quieter steppin’ through the woods. They did nothin’ much but do slow circles in ten to five miles from the house, seemed to be countin’ some or getting scope of the land, making some notes between ‘em, but otherwise silent. Eleven o’clock one of Weston’s men made an appearance’n M and T hightailed it so quick as any horses goes. No chase, they weren’t seen. They returned to the Inn for the remainder of that night. 

I slept on the roof of the municipal building and made sure to keep eyes on the Inn from all sides. Next day T left the Inn early near five, for a second I caught M scopin’ from the window, face serious lookin’. He did a strange thing — he put his hand near’n the glass even though T could see ‘im none with his head down — and shut the curtains before T was done gettin’ in the rig and lookin’ right back. Otherwise normal. I sent a man on T’s tail and stayed near the Inn m’self.

T took two hours to the station after rentin’ out a small one-horse wagon. Railmen unloaded several boxes into the cart there for him from carriage 23 careful as handlin’ new babes. T covered them in tarp and proceeded out to Weston’s estate near’n ruins of the De Santa farm after speakin’ to one O.N. Porch is mostly ash but only on one side, T carefully unloaded the boxes under the broken wood, looking about in between with binoculars of sorts. He proceeded back toward the hotel at sundown without incident.

During that time, M engaged conversationally with folk downstairs at the Inn. Drank, gambled some and lost some four dollars and fifteen cents to Johnston Gray. Around noon he spoke to some of ‘em girls of the line, seemed to be right on charmin’ em to bed for free on account ‘o his loss, I reckoned. But by later afternoon he was deep chattin’ to one Miss Velvets in a dark corner, seemed to be wooing her from afar, smilin’ and actin’ like he fancied her some — hand on her and all the rest. At some point I went and sat close to them at a short table, hunched over a bottle to make like I’m drunk asleep and disguise myself. M said, _— you can convince him then?_  

The lady looked flattered some, but eyes were wide with a scare suddenly, _usually. Depends on his mood. But there’s sure to be one cotillion within the week. Spring celebration has been goin’ for weeks. Good things on the farms, lots of money and booze to be had. Good business for me too._

M seemed to think for a longer’n hell moment, _you’re sure it’d be at his home? Weston Estate?_

She looks more scared’n before, throwin’ looks all over, _usually is, now what you say we take this business meetin’ upstairs._ Puts her hand on his leg and moves closer to seemingly get the talk done with if you know what I mean, Sir. M was about to talk back, but the saloon doors took swing with ‘em evenin’ rushes after the ranch is out, and T comes in too, lookin’ haggard as all hell. Soot on his elbows and knees and brow on account of being out by the scorched ranch, hat in his hand and wet round the rim with sweat. I’s lookin’ close from under an arm, but T had no other eyes save on M and Miss Velvet. I swear Sir I believed someone’d be shot dead by the end o’ the minute and got to my haunches to scat in case o’ the rage in T’s face got outta hand.

One look up’n down and T took a deep breath, tipped his head, _evenin’ Sammy - the usual, huh?_ had this strange bitter sense of a smile in ‘is voice.

M didn’t stir much, just shrugged, _Havin’ a chat, Lou. I’ll see round back the stairs later._ He turned right back close to the lady so T had no chance but to walk off or watch ‘em keep at their whisperin’. 

I took a walk then, slipped out between all them crowds. Took myself out back on a church lantern that faces out toward the aspect o’ that inn. Nine that night M finally walks out by, he was alone for some long times. Maybe an hour even, and got restless for it until T dropped out the door, it was rowdy in the saloon by then and lights spilled but ain’t nobody to look in except me. T was drunk some, had a stumble to his step. Laughin’, cussing at somethin’ inside.

_Where the hell have you been?_

_Around, Mi-Sam._

_You want to get us killed, is that it?_

_No I ain’t fixin’ for it. Just s’posed to m’self that if you have a swell time then so would I, no fun in being left out by my lonesome._

_I rightly told you this morning I needed to find some information on Weston’s comings and goings._

_So?_

_So what?_

_Did you find any? Was it under her dress like you expect? What was it Michael, a flyer with his name and schedule tucked right between her tits, huh?_

_I can’t fuckin’ believe you, this ain’t the time to get yourself worked up over this. One mistake and we’re done._

_So you fucked her._  

_You really think that badly of me?_

_That ain’t a fuckin’ answer. Just tell me, I’ll lick my wounds and be done to hell with it by mornin’ so we can go cut this son of a bitch down._

M looked exhausted, leaning up against this pole rubbin’ at his face, T just starin’ him with bowed shoulders like his fixin’ to fight again, breathing real hard.

_I don’t know how in the hell you want me to prove m’self, T, but I told her I was a married man and that was that. Do whatever the fuck ye want with that._

M went in soon after, T punched out the pole a couple o’ times hard, muttered some things I couldn’t make out. Near midnight then. 

Nothin else in the saloon fer the rest o’ the night. Next day I stood waitin’ until late morn before M put in an appearance and went down to church alone. Sat the sermon and he had a wonderin’ eye at the time, scopin’ everybody out from under his hat at the back. After he idled near’n the townsfolk pretendin’ to read the good book, but listenin’ mostly, I think. Talk of Weston’s cotillion the next week’s Friday.

Round same time T went out to a dry field several miles outta the city and collected a mule and some stacks on it’s back from O.N. When he came through town M joined ‘im down main-street and they took the mule to the old De Santa farm together. Followed distantly, couldn’t hear anything said. They hid the guns in the same place. Rode back together, didn’t stay at the saloon long. Didn’t seem to be in the talkin’ mood.

The next week I kept eyes on ‘em so best as I could. They went away from Gable Inn, three towns over to Belter’s Keep, a small, nearly run-down establishment. Three hours ride outside o’ Weston’s. One room, slept days mostly and left at nightfall. Once I learned the pattern was that they’d go back to Weston’s Estate on them nights I waited there for ‘em. M would dismount at the crest o’ the hill and perch waitin’ with them binoculars and sharp rifle. These hours T went on foot closer and closer to the main house. First days I couldn’t tell what he’s up to, but he’d been twinnin’ and burying a electrical cable between rocks or an inch thick, setting up flair points it seems. Three all in all from each direction, clusters of dynamite under tree-roots and middlings of crops, buried well in them cases.

M tracked him closely and every other night I’d go with either and on the fourth I was across the next twin hill in a tree, my own set of eyes tryin’ to make out a thing. They were closer’n before, T was near under Weston’s window sills, dynamite in the flowerbeds from what I’d reckoned. M seemed nervous as all hell  within the first hour while T laid out the cables and dug out patches with a spade of sorts. Two o’clock, maybe — Weston’s men were makin’ fer one of their rounds. Twice they came close to T, and M rose his barrel, but if he shot too soon T would be left to his own feet to carry him and they played this balancin’ act most of the night. One big guy (Matthew Smith I believe) stepped out the front door finally, double barrel in his hand that time, as I seen it in my glasses. T couldn’t see him, wide sets of rose bushes he was buryin’ dynamite in blocked his view, I think, or he’d have stop movin’ closer’n all. M was flat on the ground mouth moving quickly, lookin’ across. He took a shot. He missed, takin’ out a doorknob of sorts behind Smith. T didn’t budge, started diggin’ faster while Smith began lookin’ about. M took a second shot and missed it by a wider length. A couple of other men rounded there house from the stables on ponies. M got to his feet seeing the number and T not budgin’. He started shoutin’, jumpin’ some and making noise like he’d rightly lost his mind.

_Fuck you Weston, you whoreson of a bitch come and see me yourself!_

Smith pointed out men to him and I began making off fast, but T moved too round the back while them men were distracted to get to his own mount. M glassed one last time and got in his saddle, started east at a sprint.

Still dark when I returned to Belter’s Keep figuring they would turn up or turn up dead. Kept watch from that general stores top. Near’n five T came from the west of Main Street, no injuries best as I could make out. He stood ‘round the front, not sittin’ or blinkin’, starin’ out toward each side of the street, pacing so hard I thought he’d set to wake up whoever was near’n by. Wild look in a man’s eye like that I don’t believe I’ve seen before, Sir. Sun-up and nothin’ still. By the time the sun had clear’d in that sky I dozed off truthfully for some minutes. Came to around noon fearin’ I’d lost ‘em both, but T had sat on the steps outside near them troughs, head in his hands not budgin’ none. Storming winds came through soon and water dropped, but T didn’t budge none again. Come sun-down and I’d hardly believe one man would set for so long without giving an inch. Stores closed and that poor saloon saw nothin’ for that evenin’. Not a soul on the street again except for T. Damn near packed my things and went on, but M finally made his appearance. Rounded in from the west, hat low over his face. One arm was bleedin’ some and swayin’ on his horse walkin’ slower’n molasses. Horse came to a stop before T looked up to him. M made some sort o’ move and fell straight out the saddle into mud, crumblin’ up tight like one of them beetles.

T got to his knees fer him, tryin’ to talk some, and M seemed asleep of sorts. T got him in a soldier's carry straight into the saloon, sent out a boy to post M’s horse. Nothing for the rest of the evenin’. Next day no appearance till noon, both M and T took to the saloon fer food while I was taking a long drink at the edge of the bar and finally heard them some. T seemed haggard as all hell and M tight-lipped, eatin’ with intent.

_We don’t gotta do this tonight, M. He’ll have another cotillion soon enough and we’ll put some bullets in him then._

_And how long before he finds the damn dynamite? And doubles his men? Hell, he might have already._

_You nearly fuckin’ died last night._

_Good thing for them it was nearly then — it gives us tonight. We’re takin’ it._  

 _What about yer arm?_  

 _It was scratch, T. It’ll be fine. Ain’t my shootin’ arm._  

They were quiet for a long time then, but finally T spoke _, fine, fuckin’ fine but if you pull somethin’ so stupid as last night I swear on my mama’s grave I’ll carve you up myself._

 _So long as you make it quick. Besides they won’t expect us tonight, he’ll think I’m somewhere restin’ up and we can spring him best._  

No drinking after their meal. I left to saddle up for the night, waited until seven till they came back out. Both dressed clean and holstered to the heavens with all sorts. Made a stop off at the De Santa farm and filled them with the munitions supply stack and took up them extra bullets. Before they made off M stopped T from getting onto his ride and took his hat before kissing him and putting their foreheads together. Across the next hill I didn’t hear anything more than some nightbird’s call. They were setting off again within a few more minutes. Another half hour’s ride and they arrived at the estate near’n nine in the evenin’ as the crowd was gettin’ louder and could be heard from a mile wide. I kept my distance on the furthest hill possible and watched through them glasses.

T rode down in the valley firing warning shots, circled back to M and they circled together for once, firin’ more. People in the estate started comin’ out. T set off the eastern fuse. Three explosions went nearing a minute apart between them, with it considerable harvest which caught fire some. People started makin’ their way away, stagecoaches hauling screaming women away onto the trail. M and T separated. T went off for the next fuse and M rode right down to the house, dismounted and I lost him in the moving bodies. T had set of the Northern fuse which abuts the back o’ the estate. Four more explosions, small landslides toward the valley, some o’ them trees catching blooms of fire. Against the dark sky the carriages all cleared and amongst it dead men’s bodies, Weston’s guards on the ground, M and T’s work. Twenty maybe. T cleared the fire, coming between the closing gap of the north east at the last second, and slipping around the house, M came out the front door’s both thrown wide. A body was over his shoulder kicking some, which I now know’n to be Devin Weston. They tie him to a mule no sooner’n one last man comes around, fires and misses, dressed well with the Marshal’s brands. Steve Haines.

Seemed like one or the other would die, or they’d surrender Weston. T drew quicker and fired three shots. Haines dead some strokes gone midnight. T set the final fuse with Weston bound on a pony between M and T’s mounts. They rode quickly, southward. As they set to nearin’ me I cleared their way, turned around some ways behind and followed safely. Weston Estate exploded by the time I did this, all if going up into pieces, the tall columns shredded and vanished in a  minute, horses runnin’ near wild.

M and T took up Weston to the ground at old De Santa farm, at the end of safety from the fire. Set him on the ground on his knees, had some long words. Half gone one, T shot Weston in the head with a double barrel, followed with six-rounds for insurance more’n likely. Body wasn’t buried, just left closer’n enough to be taken by the fire eventually when the wind picked up. Deputies from the Sheriff’s office struggled ‘round the other side of the flames like ants.

They didn’t return to Belter’s Keep. Immediately set on a south-eastern trail to Iowa, for the train west.

Sir, per request I cut the tail here and turned back into Ludendorff.

Regards,

W.B

P.S. If ye should require any more specific detail in parts send word and I’d do my best to recount it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who went on this wild ride w us!!
> 
> While this is the last *part* of the fic, we are currently putting the finishing touches on the epilogue! As always thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and overall support we hope you enjoy the conclusion of this wild west fic that literally destroyed us both thanks for that

**Author's Note:**

> It is HIGHLY recommended for the full experience of the Yeehau that if readers have a spotify they check out [The Last Frontier's Playlist by Buscemies!](https://open.spotify.com/user/buscemies/playlist/2vFflLbCEpQ60z2uX9TSGX)
> 
> Special thanks to [Kingtownley](kingtownley.tumblr.com) for putting up for incessant yeehawing for two months while we wrote this.
> 
> And extra special thanks to all of you for your support and kind words! We hope you enjoy the following chapters which we'll be posting every other week!
> 
> XOXO  
> Buscemies & Daaarlings


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